When You Wish Upon a Star: A Phanfiction Parody
by JustGoogleIt
Summary: *Complete!* Fifteen-year-old Melanie Russo didn't mean any harm; she just wanted Dan and Phil to be happy. That's why she wrote them eighty-three phanfics. But what happens when, through some magical circumstances, she accidentally forces her idols to live out her fantasies? Strap yourselves in folks, this is going to be one wild ride! :D (Rated T for language)
1. A Word From Your Author

Hello Lovely Reader!

Welcome to my imagination! Good luck; you'll need it.

I'm really psyched about this fic; I've been writing and editing it since January! Before we dive into the story though, there are a few important things that need to be stated and I'd really advise that you read this entire pre-chapter so as not to get the wrong idea. Thank you for your cooperation in this matter :)

Introduction:

First and foremost, this story is a _parody_, which the dictionary defines as: "a humorous or satirical imitation of a serious piece of literature or writing". My fic is a parody of RPF, specifically Phan RPF.

Please understand that I _genuinely_ enjoy phanfiction. I'm not dissing anyone's fics: if you've written a (non-smutty) Phan story on this site, chances are likely I've read it and enjoyed it. The goal of this story is to amuse: NOT to harm anyone. However, being a parody, you may find certain parts of it offensive. Please understand that is in no way my intent. I'm just trying to poke a bit of fun at something that we all enjoy :)

Acknowledgements:

My three wonderful beta-readers: Katisha (KDaisyH), Kayleigh (The Unstoppable Duracell Bunny), and Naomi (Rose Marion BAD WOLF). You ladies have been fantastic! Thank you so much.

NaNoWriMo – for inspiring and supporting this bout of literary abandon.

Disclaimers:

The thoughts, opinions, and situations expressed in this completely and utterly fictitious account do not necessarily reflect the views of the creator and/or any other affiliated persons. The author renounces all rights to the characters of:

Daniel Howell, Philip Lester, Carrie Hope Fletcher, Alex Day, Charlie McDonnell, Bryarly Bishop, Ed Blann, Michael Aranda, Kristina Horner, Kayley Hyde, Liam Dryden, BriBry Really O' Riley, Chris Kendall, PJ Liguori, John Green, Hank Green, Ciaran O'Brien, Emma Blackery, Jack Howard, Dean Dobbs, Khyan Mansley, Bertie Gilbert, Bethan Mary Leadley, Benjamin Cook, Hazel Hayes, Brad and Liam from World of the Orange (whose last names I was unable/not motivated enough to locate), Lindsey Williams, Lex Croucher, Sam Pepper, Danny Hooper, Jack Harries, Finn Harries, Ian Hecox, Anthony Padilla, Felix Kjellberg, Cryaotic (ditto on the real name front), Harry Styles, Louis Tomlinson, Michael Jackson, Theodor Seuss Geisel (Dr. Seuss), Benedict Cumberbatch, Elvis Presley, William Shakespeare, Tom Milsom, Tom Fletcher, Tom Law, Tom Ridgewell, Tom McLean, and/or anyone else answering to the name of "Tom". I own none of them...

…Because that would clearly be a human rights violation.

The author is also not affiliated with or sponsored by:

YouTube, BBC Radio 1, VidCon, Twitter, Facebook, Tumblr, Formspring, deviantART, Wattpad, NaNoWriMo, Starbucks, Apple, Cadbury's, ShakeAway, Maltesers, Country Crisp, Pom-Bears, The Holy Bible, Totoro, Mario Kart Wii, Final Fantasy, The London Underground, Harry Potter, and/or Winne the Pooh.

Just FYI… :)

Rated "I" for immature

Made in America – by fourth-generation Czechoslovakian-American slave labor (me)

Few rights reserved; no wrongs reserved

Caution: hot coffee is hot

Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, was probably intentional

Any reproduction, retransmission, or rebroadcast without the expressed, written consent of the author… is completely fine; don't sweat it

Hands and feet must be firmly attached to their respective appendages at all times by way of skin, ligaments, tendons…

Harmful or fatal if swallowed

Contents (or characters) may settle (or aggravate) during shipping

Only one animal was harmed in the making of this fic – my dog, when I ran over his tail with the office chair (sorry, Tucker)

Objects in mirror are closer than they appear (parodies of fanfiction are closer than they appear as well)

Smoking may be hazardous to your health

Batteries not included (they never are)

Prolonged exposure may cause drowsiness, nausea, dizziness, blurred vision, delirium, general disgust for humanity, uncontrollable weeping, face-palming and/or head-desking

In case of accidental overdose, seek medical attention immediately

Discontinue use if rash develops

Apply brake before POV shifting

Children left unsupervised will be offered espresso, sugary cereal, and 5-Hour Energy drinks

Do not use if seal is broken (take that seal to the vet, pronto!)

Individual enjoyment level may vary

Watch for ice (in chapters 19-20)

Just say "no" to drugs, alcohol, and unnecessary POV shifts

May contain nuts (it certainly was written by one)

No lifeguard on duty

Not affiliated with the American Red Cross

One size fits the people for whom that size is the appropriate size

Nutritional information available on request (because no one ever requests it, but it's nice to know you could if you wanted to)

Not responsible for acts of God

Please remove baby before folding stroller

You could've had a V8

Void where prohibited

Always read in a well-ventilated area (so as to avoid suffocation)

Not dishwasher safe

No shoes, no shirt, no service

Not intended as a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment

May contain material some readers may find objectionable (a grain of salt is advised)

This product is not intended for use as a dental drill (few things are, sadly)

Reduce, reuse, recycle

In case of emergency… you should probably scream and/or run

For recreational use only

Some plot assembly required

Contains a substantial amount of non-tobacco ingredients

This license is effective until terminated

Pre-recorded for this time zone

No Canadian coins accepted

Has been found to cause cancer in laboratory mice

Not intended for use in toaster oven

It is in violation of the Fanfictional law to use this product in a manner inconsistent with its labeling

Terms and conditions apply

…And finally: please enjoy the story!

~Bethany


	2. Sweet Daydreams

**…..**

_The raven-haired boy leans in close to his teary lover and brushes a lock of hobbit hair away from the taller man's eyes._

_"It's okay, my little Danasaur," he whispers. "It will be okay from now on, because we'll always be together, and no one will ever be able to stop that."_

_The younger man lifts his face and focuses his gorgeous brown eyes on his companion's piercing blue ones._

_"I love you, my little Phillion," he breathes._

_"And I, you Daniel. Now, kiss me you fool!"_

_His lover cheekily grins. "I thought you'd never ask!"_

**…..**

In the little city of Black River Falls Wisconsin, fifteen-year-old Melanie Russo sat at her desk, carefully typing the final sentences of her latest phanfiction. She sighed longingly, wondering how those two silly British chaps

could be so oblivious to the fact that they were perfect for each other.

_ "For people who so adamantly declare that they're 'not a thing', they sure make themselves easy to ship,"_ she thought to herself.

"Isn't that right, Lion? Totoro?" she addressed the two stuffed animals perched on her headboard.

Of course, being stuffed animals, they remained silent.

"Exactly!" Melanie exclaimed, plopping down onto her patchwork quilted bedspread, hands clasped behind her head.

Her eyes wandered around the room, jumping from one colorful poster to another. Each one declared allegiance to her one true pairing; Daniel Howell and Philip Lester – _5ever_. The pastel pink walls were plastered with hundreds of pictures of the two British YouTubers, inspiring her substantial collection of internet-published stories.

Once Mel had recovered from her episode of "the feels", she was back to the laptop, watching the latest content from her favorite YouTube stars. Still grinning from the last PJTheKick second channel video, she clicked the refresh button to see if anything new had been uploaded.

Suddenly, a new video from ItsWayPastMyBedTime popped up on the screen, featuring a thumbnail of Melanie's seventh-favorite YouTuber wearing floppy bunny ears. She clicked on it eagerly.

"What?!" she shrieked. "I'm the first viewer?! Holy crap!" She furiously typed "FIRST!" in the comment section and clicked post.

Sadly, one other commenter had beaten her to it. That of course made Mel's "FIRST!" the second.

"Why do I never get first comment?" she moaned in frustration.

She restarted the video, as she had completely missed the first few sentences, and noticed with a scowl that not only had she spelled "FIRST!" as "FRIST!1!" but that her comment had already been marked as spam. Pushing aside her disappointment, she turned back to the screen and was soon caught up again in her honorary big sister's bubbly personality.

"Around Christmastime, Cadbury's bring out these chocolate stars called Cadbury's Wishes..." the video began with the signature ukulele riff playing in the background.

"I have one of those!" Mel squealed, pausing the video to race downstairs.

She skidded across the tiled floor of the kitchen in her fluffy green Kermit socks all the way to the cabinet. From her leftover Christmas stash, she quickly located the star-shaped chocolate candy and spun around to run back upstairs.

"Mel?" her mother asked concernedly. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Can't talk now, Mom! Carrie uploaded a new video!" the overly excited teenager exclaimed as she raced back up to her room, chocolate in hand.

"Sometimes I worry about you, Melanie!" her mother hollered after her.

"At least I don't do drugs!" she called back before closing the door behind her with her foot and diving back onto the bed.

She placed herself once more in front of her laptop and pressed the play button.

"...The child inside me assumed that Cadbury's Wishes are called that because you have to make a wish when you eat them..." Carrie went on.

Melanie leaned in closer, grinning with excitement and soaking in every word from the fantastically curly-haired YouTuber.

"...and suggest that you make your wish with the first bite, which gives a little more time for the chocolate to work its magic..."

"It's magic!" Mel squealed. "Did you hear that Totoro? Lion? This chocolate is magic! What do you think I should wish for?"

She gazed once more at the plush creatures, who stared back with the same blank expression as always. "Great idea, Totoro!" she giggled. "Why didn't I think of that myself?"

Melanie unwrapped the gold and purple packaging, pressed the candy to her lips, and whispered her heart's greatest desire:

"I wish with all my heart that my stories would all come true so that Dan and Phil can find true love at last."

Little did she know that as she savored the sweet taste of chocolate, her innocent wish would soon change two people's lives forever...


	3. Human Decency

"Dan Howell!" the Starbucks barista hollered into the crowded store.

At the sound of his name, Dan retrieved his Caramel Macchiato from the counter and spun around just in time to smash into a young teenage girl, slopping his hot coffee all over her white sweater.

"Oh shit! I'm so sorry!" he exclaimed, urgently searching for napkins.

"You're sorry?! This is a brand new..." she stopped speaking as soon as she saw his face. "Oh my g-god, you're d-danisnotonfire!" she stuttered.

Dan held out the crumpled napkins that he had managed to wrestle out of the dispenser. "Yeah... sorry," he mumbled awkwardly.

"Oh, don't worry about it! It's completely fine!" she assured, switching seamlessly from annoyed customer to adoring fan. "Oh my god, I can't believe I'm meeting Dan Howell! Your videos are _amazing_! It's an absolute _honor_ to wear your coffee, sir!"

Dan laughed at the excited girl, noting that her accent was American. "Yeah, well, I generally prefer to just drink it, but you know…"

She giggled and brushed her purple-dyed hair back from her face with a liberally wristband-ed arm. "I just can't believe that I actually met you! I mean, I'm only here in London for a week. I told myself not to get my hopes up, that there was no chance of me ever meeting one of my YouTube idols, but yet here you are! I just can't even..." she babbled, gazing star-struck into his eyes. "By the way, you're a lot taller than I had imagined."

Dan smiled. "Yeah, I get that a lot..."

"Oh, I'm sure that you do!" she interrupted excitedly. "Well, I'm so glad to have gotten the chance to meet you, even if I had to ruin a sweater in the process. Or, wait! You call them 'jumpers' right? That's so weird! In America, we have something called a jumper too, but it's like a cross between overalls and dress. How weird is that? Then again, we call these things 'sweaters', which is just really weird too if you think about it because like, I get that they keep you warm and therefore could make you sweat, but, you know, why would you want to advertise that to the world? Like, that's a really unattractive word. Jumper doesn't make sense either, although it is more attractive sounding than sweater. But it's not like you have to jump to get into them. Oh! I just thought of something! Skinny jeans should be called 'jumpers' because you _do_ have to jump to get into them! That would make sense. If I could make my own language, I would make all the words really make sense, you know? What do you think, Dan?"

It took Dan a few seconds to realize that she had stopped speaking.

"Sorry... what was the question?" he asked, blinking several times.

"Oh sorry, am I talking too much? Some people say that I talk too much, but I don't really see it. I think it's important for a girl to have a voice, you know? Especially in such a male-dominated society. But anyway, I'll try to tone it down a bit. By the way, my name is Ophelia Cole!"

"That's an interesting na-" Dan began.

"I know, right? See, my parents were both really into theater, and they would go around touring with this Shakespearean theater company. Then, while they were working on their big production of Hamlet, they just couldn't contain their passion anymore. So as soon as the intermission came, they snuck off to the prop room, and... Well, the rest is history! Then, since I was conceived during Hamlet, my parents thought it would be fitting to call me Ophelia, and I think they were right. It's not a very common name, you know? I've only ever met one other girl named Ophelia in my entire life. So, how were you conceived?"

"Uhh," Dan sputtered, letting the bit of coffee that he had just sipped dribble down his chin, "it never really came up at the dinner table..."

"Oh, I see," Ophelia gushed. "Not all families are as open as mine is, but I think that's a shame, don't you? I can talk to my parents about anything."

_"I'll bet you do,"_ Dan thought. "Well, it's been great meeting you, Ophelia, but I really need to get going... I have a train to catch." He turned to head out of the café, eager to escape the incessant babbling.

"Oh! I'll walk with you!" she exclaimed, bounding along beside him. "I need to go to the train station too. Or wait, you call it 'the Underground', right? That sounds so spooky and exciting! In America, we call it 'the subway', which of course just makes me think of the restaurant... do you have Subway here too? You know, the sandwich place?"

"Uh..."

"Oh well, it's okay. It will be so exciting to go on the Underground by myself! Of course, I'm not really by myself because there will be all those people around me, and you of course. But, you know, not with my parents. Is it really scary to ride the Underground? I always thought it would be scary, especially after I listened to Alex Day's song about it. Oh my god! I just remembered that you know Alex Day, like, personally! That's so cool! I can't even imagine how awesome that is. Does he really wear those crazy clothes in real life?"

"Yep," Dan said, deciding that one-word answers and long strides were his best bets for escape.

Being over a foot shorter than him, Ophelia had to trot to keep up."Oh that's so cool! I've always wanted to be more adventurous with my wardrobe. I'd hate to just blend into the woodwork, you know?"

"I don't think that would be possible for you," Dan muttered. His temper was rising and he could feel the beginnings of a headache.

"Awe! That's so sweet of you to say!" she giggled.

Ophelia continued to chat the entire way to the station, and Dan focused on tuning her out, adding the occasional grunt or nod to her ramblings when it seemed appropriate.

Upon arriving, he tried once more to make his getaway. "Alright, well, I think this is where we'll have to say goodbye... you know where you're going, right?"

Ophelia laughed. "Nope! My parents just gave me some money and told me to go and explore for a while because they wanted a couple of hours on this vacation when they could actually complete their sentences. Which I think is kind of unfair, because I really do try to let them talk; it's just that the stuff they have to say can be so boring, you know? I just try to liven up the conversation, but hey, why complain? I have a few hours to explore London alone. How many other twelve-year-olds get the chance to do that? I've been all over! Actually, I'm not really sure how I got here..."

Dan slowly face-palmed. "So, let me get this straight. You're twelve, alone, in London for the first time, and basically lost?"

"Well, it sounds bad when you put it like that. This is an adventure!"

He didn't quite know why, but he felt responsible for her. What kind of parents just let a twelve-year-old girl loose in a major city?

"Okay Ophelia," he sighed, "let's get a map and try to figure out how to get you back to your parents. Can you call them?"

"I tried, but they shut their phones off."

"Gosh, I wonder why?" Dan said under his breath. "Alright, you at least know where they are, right?"

The two found a map and studied the colorful lines, trying to figure out which train Ophelia should board. Once they had decided on one, Dan helped her to buy a ticket, which was complicated by the fact that Ophelia was fascinated by the "pretty colors" of British currency. After a rather lengthy goodbye, Dan left his young fan on the appropriate platform, talking to an annoyed mother and her three-year-old son. He shot the glaring woman an apologetic glance as he hurried off.

Dan had gotten about twenty feet away when he heard the little boy burst into sobs. He glanced back to see the balloon that the boy had been holding was floating away in the direction of the train tracks.

"Don't cry, little guy! I can reach it!" Ophelia exclaimed, chasing the balloon to the edge of the platform.

The ground was beginning to shake with the rumble of the approaching train. "Ophelia! No!" Dan screamed.

"It's okay! I got it!" she called back, reaching out to grasp the balloon in her outstretched hand.

Dan discovered something in that moment. That cliché about things happening in slow motion while in dangerous situations turned out to have some merit after all. It was as if someone had slowed time down to a tenth of its normal speed; each moment was its own disjointed eternity.

First, he watched Ophelia reach out for the balloon.

Then, he saw her lose her balance.

Then, he watched her go tumbling forward onto the tracks.

Then, he heard people screaming in terror.

Then, he realized that it was mainly just him.

Then, he felt his feet charging toward the tracks.

Then, he heard the whistle from the oncoming train.

Then, he dropped to his knees at the edge of the platform.

Then, he reached down and grabbed Ophelia under her arms.

Then, he yanked her back with all his might.

Then, he shut his eyes tight.

Then, he let Ophelia fall on top of him.

Then, he felt the train rush past, mere centimeters from his head.

Then, he breathed again.

By the time he had recovered enough to acknowledge the small crowd that had started to form around them, he was panting as though he had just finished a marathon.

"What the fuck were you thinking?!" Dan exploded. "It was a fucking balloon! You almost got us killed over a fucking balloon!"

He stopped yelling as soon as he noticed the tears running down the little girl's cheeks. "Hey, hey, it's okay," he said in a much calmer tone, patting her gently on the back, "Please don't cry. I just... you really freaked me out there. I thought I was going to have to see... yeah."

Ophelia looked up at him, eyes red from crying, but didn't speak a word.

_ "Apparently, the key to shutting her up is a good near-death experience and some swearing,"_ Dan thought.

"You'd better hurry up and get on your train," he said, gesturing to the rapidly filling vehicle next to them. "It's going to be gone soon."

"No!" she said, her voice quavering, "I don't want to go on the train anymore! I hate your city and your stupid Underground!"

"Well, how are you going to get back then?" he sighed.

But she had already stood up and was walking towards the other end of the platform, arms crossed defiantly over her chest.

"Ophelia!" he called, rising to his feet and wincing from the pain in his knees. "You can't just wander around London alone!"

"And why not?!" she half-sobbed, half-yelled, her back still turned to him.

"Because it's dangerous!"

"Why do _you_ care?!"

The question caught Dan off-guard. Why did he care? He had never met this girl before, she annoyed the hell out of him, and she obviously had some... issues. And yet he had just risked his life to save hers. What was he doing?

When he thought back to the rescue, he couldn't really remember deciding to run to her aide. Actually, he couldn't remember deciding to do anything at all. It was like he had no choice; like someone else had hijacked his brain for those moments and told him exactly what he needed to do.

He shook his head in an effort to clear such ridiculous thoughts from his mind.

"Well?" she asked again.

"I don't know, Ophelia," he sighed, "Human decency, I guess. Now, come on; I'll make sure you get home safe."


	4. Homophobia

It was nearly 10:00 P.M. before Dan finally entered his apartment. He plopped down on the couch with a groan.

"What happened to you?" Phil smirked, closing his laptop.

"Let's just say it was a pretty shitty day," Dan answered. Then he began to relay the events that had taken place, much to his flatmate's amusement. When he had finished the strange and heroic tale, Phil was nearly in tears from laughter.

"So, how _were_ you conceived?" Phil giggled.

Dan rolled his eyes. "Right, I almost die, and I can't even get my best friend to care. No 'Oh Dan, are you alright?' or 'Gosh Dan, that sounds awful; should I make you some tea?' No, you just want to know how I was conceived. Well, I don't know that story, Phil. I'VE NEVER ASKED!"

"Okay, okay! Sorry!" Phil laughed. "So tell me; how does it feel to be a hero?"

"It was weird," Dan replied. "I didn't exactly decide to do it... it just kind of happened. I mean, it's not like I wanted to see her die, I just never really _chose_ to save her. How is that even possible?"

"Instinct?" Phil suggested.

"What instinct makes someone care enough about a really annoying kid to put his life in jeopardy just to save hers?"

"Uh... maternal?"

Dan rolled his eyes again. "Yeah Phil, you're right, that was just my maternal instinct coming out. I obviously got confused for a second and thought that I was her mother. That sounds about right."

"Hey, I'm just trying to help."

"I know… I'm sorry," Dan sighed. "I need to go to bed."

"But it's only ten-thirty."

"I'm just going to try to end this day before anything else weird happens to me," Dan announced, standing up.

"Okay, sleep tight!" Phil called after him, "By the way, I'm gay and I love you!"

Dan spun around for the third time that day. "Come again?"

The look of horror now spread across his friend's face confirmed to Dan that he had not heard wrong.

"Uh, nothing," Phil squeaked.

"No, not nothing, Phil. You just told me you were gay."

"I did... but I don't know _why_ I did," Phil said, looking absolutely terrified.

"Well, are you gay?"

"I don't think so. At least I hadn't thought so until about twenty seconds ago."

"So, you _are_ gay?" Dan asked, sitting back down on the couch.

"No! I... I don't know where that came from!"

"So, you're _not_ gay?"

"I DON'T THINK SO, BUT THIS HAS BEEN A VERY CONFUSING MINUTE FOR ME!" Phil bellowed.

"Take your time."

"Cheers."

After a minute or so, Phil broke the silence. "Dan, I've decided I am not gay," he said. "And, I don't love you. Well, I do love you, but not in that way. You know what I mean, right?"

"Yeah, but why did you say were gay if you're not gay? Not that there's anything wrong with that," Dan added quickly, "I just... didn't think you were."

"I don't know why I said it. I don't remember _deciding_ to say it."

Dan stared at his perplexed friend for a full minute, trying to figure out if he was lying or not. But he had learned the different faces of Phil over the years, and this one was definitely sincere.

"Okay then, I believe you," Dan said, standing up once more. "I'm really going to bed now."

"Goodnight, Dan," Phil called.

"Goodnight, Phil; I'm gay and I love you too."

As soon as the words exited his lips, Dan let out a little shriek. "I don't know why I said that!" he exclaimed, the look of horror now spread across his face instead of Phil's.

"Wait, are you really gay?" Phil asked.

"No! I'm not gay. I am definitely _not_ gay!"

"Are you bi then?"

"No."

"Do you like boys?"

"No!"

"Do you like me?"

"Not in that way!"

"Good," Phil concluded, "me neither."

"What the fuck is going on?!" Dan exclaimed.

"I don't know," Phil replied, "but I think you were right about ending this day as soon as possible. Let's just both go to bed."

"In our own rooms," Dan added quickly.

Phil rolled his eyes. "Obviously!"

"Well, I felt the need to clarify. Let's just hope that when we wake up in the morning, neither one of us remembers this."

"Agreed," Phil said.

Then the two hurried off to their own rooms and locked the doors.


	5. The Morning After

Unfortunately, their plan to forget about that day didn't work very well. By the time the two of them shuffled into the kitchen at the ungodly hour of 6:00 A.M., they were both mentally and physically exhausted.

Phil slid into a chair and lay his head down on the table. "I still say we should go to a doctor," he mumbled.

"And what's he going to say, Phil?" Dan asked miserably, taking the seat opposite him. "They'll throw us in the loony bin for sure."

"Well, what's your plan? You 'came out' to me fifteen times last night. Fifteen times in seven hours, you stood outside the door to my room and hollered about how much you loved me. If I had any brain cells left, I would figure out the ratio of confessions per hour, but I'm so tired, I don't even think I could count to ten."

"Okay, first, let's not forget about the twelve times you came over to my room and did the same thing to me," Dan began. "You make it sound like this is all my fault."

Phil shrugged.

"Second," Dan continued, consulting the calculator app on his iPhone, "the ratios are 2.1 and 1.7. Third, no I don't have another idea, I just think going to a doctor and saying, 'My straight flatmate and I have unintentionally declared our undying love for each other twenty-seven times in the past seven hours; what should we do?' is a really bad plan if we ever want to see the light of day again."

Phil sighed in defeat. He knew Dan was right, but he didn't want to accept it. "I just wish I knew what was going on," he groaned.

"Well, we need to figure something out and I need caffeine to do that, so I'm going to Starbucks again. Coming?"

"I guess I might as well."

They stood up and made their way slowly to the door, but Dan stopped just as his hand rested on the handle.

"Phil?" he asked.

"What, Dan?"

"I'm gay and I love you."

"You don't say?" Phil replied in monotone.

"Sorry, Phil. I didn't mean it," Dan replied with the same exhausted voice.

"I know, Dan."

And with that, the two exited the building.

* * *

**A/N: Hello Lovely Reader!**

**As I'm sure you are aware, this site offers a very helpful review section for the expression of your thoughts, feelings, and opinions regarding this story . If you should feel so inclined, feel free to use said section to tell me what you think of the story thus far. Some sample comments have been provided below for your convenience. Please copy and paste as you see fit:**

**"This story sucks"**

**"I want my money back"**

**"You make me vomit"**

**"Who the hell do you think you are?!"**

**"I'm offended!"**

**"How dare you write this mindless drabble?!"**

**"You should die in a hole"**

**"The internet was better before you came"**

**"Away! Thou'rt poison to my blood!" (but you'll need to credit Shakespeare on that one)**

**"%&*#!" **

**"I didn't hate it as much as I thought I would"**

**"LOL"**

**Thanks so much for reading and I hope you're having a wonderful day!**

**Best wishes!**

**~ Bethany :) **


	6. Coffee with Eeyore

"Dan Howell! Phil Lester!" the familiar barista barked into the busy café.

"That's us," Dan said, stepping forward to claim the drinks. Phil was already trying to snag a table somewhere far enough out of the way that any homosexual declarations would not be heard by fellow customers. With two hot drinks in hand, Dan spun around from the counter, smashing right into a teenage girl.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" he exclaimed, "I am so sorry!"

He set the drinks back down on the counter and hurriedly began pulling napkins out of the dispenser and thrusting them into her hands. The girl just silently looked down at her formerly pale yellow cardigan, and then up to his face. Then she crumpled, falling forward toward Dan.

"Oh, why me?" Dan groaned as he caught the tiny girl and attempted to lower her down without smashing her face into the linoleum. Her glasses clattered to the ground in the process.

"Phil, get over here!" he hollered into the dining room.

Phil approached cautiously and stared at the unconscious girl. "Dan, what did you do?"

"Nothing! I just sort of slopped the coffee on her and then she fell over."

"Dan!"

"It was an accident!"

"I'm gay and I love you!" Phil exclaimed. "No, I didn't mean that! I meant, what should we do?"

"I don't know," Dan replied, and then turned back to the unconscious teenager. "Hello? Hello? Girl?"

While they had received some odd glances from fellow customers due to Phil's announcement, not one of them offered to help.

_ "Typical_," Dan thought.

Just as Phil pressed the first nine into his phone, her eyelids fluttered open.

"Oh thank goodness," Phil said. "Hey, are you okay?"

Her eyes glanced around the room, fear and confusion evident in them. "What happened?" she asked weakly.

"I think you fainted. Here, let's get you off the floor," Phil said, offering her his arm.

She held out her hand in front of her, grasping at the air at least a foot to the left of his arm. The two boys exchanged worried glances.

_ "Did she hit her head?"_ Phil mouthed.

_ "I don't know,"_ Dan mouthed in return, trying not to look as guilty as he felt about the whole ordeal.

Each taking an arm, they lifted the girl to her feet and led her to the table that Phil had picked out in the back.

"I really need my glasses," she said as she staggered along. "I'm pretty much blind without them."

While Dan went to locate the glasses, Phil started a conversation with the woozy girl.

"So, what's your name?" he began.

"Oriella Cocosinski," she replied. Her tone reminded him of Eeyore from Winnie the Pooh.

"Wow, that's an interesting name."

"Oh, thanks," she sighed, "no one can spell it."

Phil laughed as Dan returned with the glasses and what was left of their coffees.

"Here are your glasses," he said apologetically, "I think they're a bit cracked though."

"Eh, it happens," she shrugged, taking them from him. "At least now I'll be able to see who my rescuers are."

Oriella began wiping the lenses off with her sweater. "You know what was funny? Before I fainted, I thought I saw somebody I recognized – and he does live in London – but that would be pretty much impossible because I'm from Maine and I'm only here for a week. I'm just setting myself up for-"

"I love Phil and I'm gay!" Dan suddenly interjected.

As soon as he said it, he clamped a hand over his mouth. Oriella had just managed to get the glasses on and was staring in disbelief at the two YouTubers.

"It's true," she whispered before sliding out of her chair and onto the floor, out cold once again.

"Damn it, Phil!" Dan exclaimed. "She must be a fan. Let's just go; we're obviously not good for her blood pressure anyway."

"We can't just leave her!" Phil protested.

"What we can't have is her waking up, remembering what happened, and leaking our little 'problem' out to the internet!"

After a bit more debate, Phil begrudgingly agreed. The two hurried out of the café, leaving an unconscious Oriella with the bewildered store manager.

"Now what?" Dan asked once they had put some distance between themselves and Starbucks.

"Well," Phil pointed to an ancient-looking building across the street, "we could go to the library. Maybe we can figure out what's wrong with us the old-fashioned way."

Dan looked puzzled. "In books?"

"No, silly! By stealing some Wi-Fi to Google it."

"Oh, that makes more sense."


	7. What are the Odds?

"Dan! I think I just found something!" Phil whispered excitedly.

Dan scooted his chair over so that they both could view the horrifically outdated library computer screen.

"Tourette syndrome? Really?" Dan asked skeptically.

"Yeah! Look, it says that it's a 'neurological disorder that causes motor or verbal tics, which in rare cases may be expressed as coprolalia, which is the _involuntary use_ of obscene words or _socially inappropriate _phrases.' I mean, screaming about being gay when you're straight definitely qualifies as socially inappropriate."

"But if you keep reading," Dan objected, pointing further down the screen, "it also says, 'Tourette syndrome becomes evident in early childhood or adolescence before the age of eighteen years'."

"We're close enough; it's a generalization."

"Yeah, but think about it. What are the odds that _both_ of us would acquire the _rarest form_ of an already unusual neurological disorder, _outside_ of the usual age range, on the _same exact day_?"

Phil rubbed his forehead. "Well," he suggested, "maybe we've had it all along but it's been dormant, and the stress of the train incident caused it come out."

Dan raised an eyebrow. "You're really grasping at straws, aren't you, Phil? Trust me, we don't have Tourette syndrome."

"I'm just trying to help! Do you _want_ to be crazy? Because that's what people will think unless we can come up with a fancy-sounding reason as to why all this weird stuff keeps happening to us."

"I'm just say-" Dan began.

"DAN, I'M GAY AND I LOVE YOU!"

Every eye in the library focused in on the two skinny-jeans-and-sweater-clad boys. Several people "tutted", a couple giggled, and a particularly nasty-looking librarian glared in their direction.

"Oh, crap," Phil whispered, his hand covering his mouth.

Then, something inside of Dan snapped and he jumped up excitedly, glaring back into the otherwise silent room.

"Well? What are you all looking at?!" he exclaimed. "Haven't you ever seen somebody with a neurological disorder before? It's called Tourette syndrome. You're in a library; LOOK IT UP!_"_

Then, the elderly security guard escorted them out of the building and back into the mild January air.

They had walked about a block in silence before Phil turned to grin at his friend.

"So, we have Tourette syndrome, eh?" Phil smirked. "What are the odds?"

Dan smiled back for the first time that day. "Of course we don't. But if I had to have a rare neurological disorder, there's no one I'd rather share it with than you, Phil."

Phil chuckled, "Now there's a line you won't find in the greeting cards."

* * *

**A/N: Hello Lovely Reader!**

**If you've already written a review for this story, allow me to express my sincerest gratitude. (*expressing gratitude... NOW!*)**

**If you have not written a review, that's okay. My country affirms and upholds your right to remain silent. We can still be friends (or enemies if you prefer, I'm very accommodating).**

**If you would like to review this story, but you're unsure of exactly what to say, I've provided some sample comments below for your copy-and-pasting pleasure:**

**"OMG, you suck!"**

**"I'm un-following this fic. You update every freaking day. It's annoying."**

**"I have an obscure relative with Tourette syndrome and I found this offensive" (I'm so sorry; that was not my intention. Please see initial disclaimer.)**

**"I like pie"**

**"I dislike pie"**

**And our Shakespearean insult of the day: "More of your conversation would infect my brain" (please remember to credit Sir William)**

**Best wishes! **

**~ Bethany **


	8. Release the Scurry

As the two walked on, they realized that they were entering a rather shady part of town. An assortment of bearded men in mismatched old clothing lined the edges of the sidewalk.

"Maybe we should go back the way we came," Dan murmured, carefully stepping over the foot of what appeared to be either a very drunk or a recently deceased man.

"Just keep walking," Phil whispered, "and whatever you do, don't draw atten-"

"I LOVE PHIL AND I'M GAY!"

"Yep," Phil grimaced, "saw that one coming."

The man, who turned out to be decidedly not dead, perked up at the exclamation. "Oi! Yew a couple of faggots then?" he slurred. "I hate dem faggots!" His accent was some ridiculous cross between Cockney and Texas drawl.

"Head down; walk fast," Phil quietly advised, picking up the pace.

"Oi! I'm talkin' to yew!" the man said, springing to his feet much quicker than Dan and Phil had thought possible.

He took off after them in a surprisingly fast, albeit wobbly pursuit, which forced the two boys into a run.

"What are we going to do?!" Dan exclaimed, terror evident in his voice.

"Keep running!" Phil shouted back.

"RELEASE THE SCURRY!" the old man bellowed, clambering on behind them.

All of a sudden, a large group of confused-looking squirrels emerged from an ally-way and attempted to dart across the street, blocking Phil's path. Too late to change his trajectory, Phil tripped over one of the terrified rodents and fell flat on his face, Dan toppling ungracefully over him.

Their pursuer cackled with glee. "Git 'em, Eddie!" he hollered excitedly.

Out of the same ally-way from which the squirrels had come, a younger man – presumably Eddie – appeared.

The assailants grabbed the two YouTubers roughly by their shirt collars, dragged them into the ally-way, and threw them up against the side of a brick building.

"We did it, Eddie! We did it!" the old man exclaimed excitedly. "I knew if we caught all dem squirrels they'd come in handy some day!"

"But now we gotta catch us 'nother herd of dem buggers 'fore we can do it 'gin," Eddie scowled.

"I told yew, de ain't a herd; dem's a scurry! Said so on dem inter-webs."

"It don't matter, Hamish! Now, let's git on wit' it!"

"Oh, right," Hamish said, turning to a terrified Dan and Phil, "Uh, gimmie all yer money!"

"And dem fancy phones too!" Eddie demanded, pressing a rusty knife up to Phil's windpipe.

"Take whatever you want!" Dan squeaked, emptying his pockets. "Just don't hurt him!"

"Ooooh! Somebody got dem-self a boyfriend!" the old man jeered. "What should we do 'bout dat, Eddie?"

"Leave 'em 'lone," Eddie mumbled, "ain't nothin' wrong wit' bein' queer."

"What yew sayin', boy?" Hamish scowled, turning on his accomplice.

"Jus' dat ain't nothin' wrong wit' bein' queer, dat's all!"

"I knew it, Eddie! Yew's a faggot too!"

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"Well, yew's bein' _culturally insensitive_!"

"Oh, yew using all dem big words now? 'Cos yew's still stupid, and yew's still a faggot!"

As the argument became more and more heated, the men released their grip on Dan and Phil and stepped away to walk further into the ally, still shouting angrily.

Dan made eye-contact with his companion. "On three," he whispered, "One… two… three!"

Simultaneously, the two boys leapt away from the wall and took off racing out of the ally and onto the street. To their great surprise, they were not perused. In fact, the odd, shouting muggers didn't even seem to notice that their victims had escaped.

After about a minute of sprinting, Dan and Phil decided it was safe to slow down.

"Dan," Phil panted, "I love… you and I'm… gay!"

"I… know," Dan panted back.

They walked along silently for a few minutes, trying to slow their rapid heartbeats.

"Wait, how'd you get all your stuff back?" Phil asked, staring at the wallet and iPhone which Dan still held in his shaking hands.

Dan glanced down as well, noticing for the first time that he was carrying anything. "They must have forgotten to take it in all the excitement. I get the feeling that they're new to the mugging business."

"So, does that mean we weren't really mugged then?" Phil asked.

Dan scratched his head. "I guess it just means we tripped over a herd of squirrels and were threateningly shoved up against a wall," he concluded.

"I think you mean a _scurry_ of squirrels," Phil corrected. "Said so on 'dem inter-webs'."

Dan just rolled his eyes.

* * *

**A/N: Hello Lovely Reader!**

**The results are in. Out of the four reviews I received mentioning pie, only one person actually likes it. This is a mind-boggling statistic that surely must be studied more. If you should feel so inclined, please let me know in the reviews what it is exactly about pie that you like or dislike. Or, if you'd prefer to talk about something else, you may. As per usual, sample comments have been provided below:**

**"Seriously, if this fic doesn't stop, I'll rip out all my hair in protest!"**

**"You are despicable"**

**"I once tripped over a scurry of squirrels and I'm offended"**

**"I don't know why I'm reading this... it's as though I've been sucked into a never-ending whirlpool of words and I want out! Please, someone, save me!"**

**And from our good friend Will: "Thou hast the most unsavory similes!" (please cite)**

**Best wishes! **

**~ Bethany**


	9. Pizza Rebellion

"What do you want to do for dinner?" Phil asked, rising from the couch. Since arriving home, he and Dan had embarked on a Buffy the Vampire Slayer marathon, too shaken-up from their eventful day to do much else.

"I don't know, maybe you should just order a pizza," Dan replied. "I love you and I'm gay!"

Phil didn't even blink at the familiar announcement. "What kind of pizza?" he asked.

About thirty minutes later, the place was filled with the delicious smell of piping hot pepperoni. Dan opened the cardboard box and lifted out one of the slices.

"I'm sooo hungry!" he moaned. "Besides the coffee, I don't think I've eaten anything all day!"

"Me neither," Phil said, also helping himself to a slice.

Dan lifted a piece of pizza to his lips and attempted to take a bite, but something stopped him from putting the food into his mouth. He shook his head. _"I must be more tired than I thought_," he laughed to himself as he tried once more. Again, he was able to get the pizza to within a couple of inches of his mouth, but it would not go any further. It was as though an invisible force field was preventing him from actually consuming any.

Perplexed, he attempted to move his mouth closer to the pizza rather than the other way around. But as his head moved toward the food his hand moved away, as if being magnetically repelled.

"Why aren't you eating?" Phil asked after a few minutes.

"I guess I'm not hungry after all," Dan lied. The last thing that he wanted to do was admit that yet another strange thing was happening to him.

"You can't put it in your mouth either, can you?" Phil asked, his own slice sitting untouched on the counter.

"No," Dan sighed, too exhausted to find Phil's innuendo-ridden question funny, "I can't. Any ideas?"

"Let's use gravity."

Phil ripped off the end of his piece, leaned his head back, opened his mouth, and attempted to drop it in. To his and Dan's great surprise, the pizza fell straight down until it reached about two inches away from his mouth. At that point, it bounced off the invisible force field and fell to the floor, leaving a smudge of tomato sauce on the tile.

"Okay, your turn," Phil said.

"Uh… we could try feeding each other," Dan suggested.

"It's worth a shot," Phil shrugged. "We already have no dignity."

Phil attempted to shove the pizza into his friend's mouth, but was met with the same mysterious response. The food stubbornly refused entry.

"Hang on," Dan said, "I've got an idea."

He picked up a piece, smushed it into a small ball, and stepped backward until he was about ten feet away from Phil.

"Open your mouth," he commanded.

"What are you doing?"

"Just trust me," Dan replied. "Now, open up and be ready to bite."

Phil opened his mouth. In one powerful motion, Dan summoned all of his gym class skills and pitched the pizza at Phil as hard as he possibly could. Unfortunately, his aim was a bit off and he hit Phil right in the eye.

"Ow! Daaaannnn!" Phil whined, a hand cupped over his eye. "I'm gay and I love you!"

"Oops," Dan snickered. "My bad. Try again?"

After another twenty minutes of fruitless attempts, the two guys sat down at the table, thoroughly frustrated. Pepperoni, tomato sauce, and cheese littered the kitchen, stuck to various appliances, the floor, and even the walls. Dan lay his head down on the table and Phil heard him let out a slight sniffling sound.

"Are you crying?" Phil asked.

"What? No!" Dan said quickly, his voice a bit thicker than normal. "I just… well, what if we can never eat again? How are we going to explain this to people? We'll die, Phil!"

"It's okay," Phil reassured, "we'll get this sorted. Let's just forget about the pizza… maybe we can eat something else."

Dan nodded and the two went to search through the kitchen for alternative food sources.

"Peanut butter?" Dan asked, tossing the jar to Phil.

Phil unscrewed the lid and struggled to bring a spoonful to his lips. "Negative," he announced as the spoon clattered to the floor.

"Bread?" Phil asked, chucking a loaf over.

And in this fashion, they made their way through the contents of the cupboards, their mouths mysteriously rejecting each item in turn.

"Cereal?" Dan sighed ten minutes later, half-heartedly tossing Phil a box of Country Crisp.

Phil poured out a small handful, held it doubtfully over mouth, and let it fall. To his relief, the sweet, crunchy flakes landed on his tongue. "YES!" he exclaimed happily. "It went in!"

"That's what she said," Dan grinned, his sense of humor returning with the realization that he wasn't necessarily going to starve to death.

"Shut up," Phil laughed. "Seriously though, I have never been so glad to taste food! I was getting worried." He thrust the box into Dan's arms. "Here, have some."

After discovering that there still were some foods that they could eat, they attacked the kitchen with new vigor, Phil trying each food while Dan made a list of all their results.

"Okay," Dan said once they had finished, "we are capable of eating the following: Country Crisp cereal, Maltesers, Pocky, yogurt, leftover stir-fry, and Pom-Bears."

"Don't forget Starbucks," Phil added.

"That's not really a food."

"Well, I'm counting it! I'd rather say I can eat seven things instead of six."

"Fine, and Starbucks. Happy now?"

"Not really. I'd still like to know _why_ we can only eat seven different foods."

Dan scratched his head. "What do they all have in common?"

"They're… not particularly healthy?" Phil offered.

"Well, neither was the pizza," Dan countered, gazing at its uneaten remains scattered across the kitchen.

"They're our favorites?" Phil tried again.

"Not really."

"They're strangely shaped?"

"Not all of them."

"They contain gluten?"

"Not yogurt."

"They're… neutrally colored?"

"Just, no."

"Well, what's your idea then?" Phil asked.

"I'm gay and I love you!" Dan announced.

"Right, besides that."

"No clue," he sighed. "Now, help me scrape cheese off stuff."

"That's what she said…" Phil giggled, before dodging the slice of pizza that came flying towards his face.

* * *

**A/N: Hello Lovely Reader!**

**Just one question today: what's your opinion on pepperoni pizza? Like it? Dislike it? Vegetarian? Let me know in the reviews. **

**And your complimentary Shakespearean example review. Please copy, paste, and cite if applicable: **

**"'Sblood, you starveling, you elf-skin, you dried neat's tongue, you bull's pizzle, you stock-fish! O for breath to utter what is like thee! You tailor's-yard, you sheath, you bow case; you vile standing-tuck!"**

**Best wishes!**

**~Bethany**


	10. Not a Wuss

The next morning found the confused YouTubers a bit less exhausted than the previous one. By sleeping with earplugs in and all available forms of white noise turned on, they had been more or less able to ignore each other's reoccurring outbursts and get some sleep.

Phil's alarm went off, waking him rudely from his slumber. After ten minutes of willing the day to go away, he finally dragged his body out of bed and shuffled into Dan's room. There, he found his friend awake but lying on his bed and staring blankly at the ceiling.

"What are you doing?" Phil asked.

"Debating," Dan replied.

"Debating what?"

"Whether or not to go to Starbucks. I've been listing the pros and cons."

"Why do you need to go there again? You don't usually go every day."

Dan sighed heavily. "It's one of our seven food sources, Phil. Plus, it's not like I've actually _consumed_ much coffee in the past two days: just tossed it on a couple Americans."

Phil shrugged. "Well, have fun. I think I'm just going to go for a walk outside. I need to get away from the weirdness for a bit."

So after a quick breakfast of dry Country Crisp and strawberry yogurt, they parted ways.

Upon arriving at Starbucks, Dan quickly placed his order with the familiar barista and waited until she called his name.

"Thanks," he said a few minutes later, carefully taking the coffee and turning around slowly to walk to an empty table.

"Okay, Dan," he muttered to himself, "you can do this. Just get the coffee from point _A _to point _B_ without slopping it on someone. Go slow… almost there… just a couple more-"

At that moment, a large bird crashed into the coffee shop window, startling Dan out of his trance just long enough to collide with a teenage girl.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me!" he groaned.

"What the heck?!" the girl exclaimed, looking down at her soaking wet sweater. "You jerk!"

"Oh god, I'm sorry. Really, really sorry," Dan apologized. It took every ounce of willpower to keep himself from running out of the café in a desperate attempt to escape more insanity.

Then she punched him in the arm.

"Ow! I said I was sorry! What else do you want?" Dan yelped.

"Ha! I'm just messing with you!" she laughed, punching him a bit harder. "I never thought I would get the chance to meet danisnotonfire. I'm only here in London for a week; I'm from the US."

"Oh, that's… nice."

"Yeah, it's great. Well, let's get a table and have a chat," she said, dragging him by the arm towards the dining room.

"Actually," Dan protested, "I think I have to-"

"Nonsense," she cut him off. "Everyone's got time for coffee. I watch your videos, Dan; it's not like you do much!" she laughed, punching him again.

Now he was getting annoyed. "Okay, that's not true. I do lots of stuff; I just don't film it all."

"Sorry! I'm sure you're very busy with your 'other activities'," she winked, using her fingers to make quote marks in the air. "Come on, I'm only here for a week. The least you can do is talk to me. As a subscriber, I help pay your rent after all," she grinned, punching him in the arm again.

"Fine, we'll talk," Dan said slowly, "but only if you stop hitting me. You're giving me a bruise."

"Oh, come on dude. You can't take a couple of punches from a girl? Don't be a wuss."

"I'm not a wuss," Dan said, rubbing his arm, "I just find getting beaten-up unpleasant."

"Ha! You wouldn't last a day in my house! I have four brothers; you've got to learn to roll with the punches, dude," she said, hitting him again. "Whoops! Sorry, I'll try to hold back."

"I'd appreciate it," Dan said as they sat down at a table. "So, what's your name?"

"I'm Oracle Caldwell."

"That's an interesting name," Dan said.

She stiffened in her seat and glared at the YouTuber. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Wait, what?" Dan asked, confused by her hostile response.

"What do you mean by saying my name is 'interesting'?" Oracle demanded. "Is that supposed to be an insult?"

"Huh? No! I just meant that it was different. You know, not like 'Sarah' or whatever."

"So, you're saying you wish my name was Sarah?"

"What?" Dan asked confusedly. "That's not what I said. Your name is… lovely. I just meant it's interesting, because everybody can list off a couple of people named Sarah, but probably… not as many… named… Oracle."

With every word Dan spoke, he could feel himself getting less and less coherent.

Glaring, Oracle launched in. "Usually when people say that something is 'interesting', they really mean that it's ugly. If you had really liked my name, then you would have said it was beautiful, not interesting."

She held up three fingers as she went on. "There are only three socially acceptable responses for when a girl tells you her name. First there's, 'Oh, that's a pretty name,' which people tend to use when they actually think that the name in question is pretty. Next, there's, 'Oh, that will be easy to remember because I have an obscure relative with the same name,' which people tend to use if the name is very common. Third, there's, 'Oh, that's an interesting name,' which almost exclusively means that the person really hates the name in question and cannot believe that parents would inflict such nomenclature upon their own flesh and blood. I can't _believe_ you went with the last one!"

Dan looked at her strangely. "I can see you've put a great deal of thought into this…"

"My parents named me Oracle!" she exclaimed. "What did you expect?!" She covered her face with her hands and began weeping big, choking sobs.

Dan stood up. "Look, I'm really sorry, but this is mental. I've obviously brought up a very touchy subject for you – you know, by asking your name – and I apologize for that, but I just can't do this right now."

Oracle looked up, her face mysteriously devoid of tears, and grinned. "I'm just busting your chops, dude!" she laughed, landing another punch on his arm.

"Goodbye, Oracle," Dan said, walking away.

She followed him out of Starbucks and down the street. "You know, you're a whole lot more fun in your videos," she remarked. "I'd expected you to be better at taking a joke."

"Let's just say that this week's not going in my top ten," Dan muttered, speeding up.

"Why?"

"Goodbye!"

"Oh, come on! You can tell me. I promise I can keep a secret… I've kept the one about my parents being half-siblings for sixteen years now. Haven't told a soul!"

Dan rolled his eyes. "That's good to know."

"Oh wait… " she said, coming to a stop, "I mean… oh crap! You won't tell anyone, will you?" she asked anxiously.

Dan looked at the girl for a second, trying to decide if she was serious or not. Then, he had an idea. "Tell you what," he said slowly, "I'll keep your little incest thing quiet if you turn around right now and quit following me."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"Pinkie promise?" she asked, extending her little finger.

Dan couldn't help but smile a bit. "Pinkie promise," he nodded, linking his finger with hers.

"I guess you're a pretty cool dude after all," she laughed. With a final punch in the arm, Oracle flounced off in the direction from which they had come, leaving a confused Dan shaking his head as he continued on his way.

And that was when he heard the screams.

* * *

**A/N: Hello Lovely Reader!**

**I would just like to take a moment to personally thank all those who have reviewed my story thus far: **

**livvylovesyou: ****for being the first to review, thus filling my little heart with joy**

**ThatEnglishRoseisnotonfire: for being concise and to the point, summarizing all of your thoughts and feelings into three kind words**

**lifelane: for knowing the location of Black River Falls Wisconsin, and also being very kind**

**Guest: for you anonymity and your ****_literal_**** death ... may you rest in peace**

**Rose Marion BAD WOLF: for your relentless criticism and insults (despite the facts that you are both my sister and Beta reader)**

**DovahFinn: for your use of Shakespeare and your unpopular opinion regarding pie**

**Ljubica Lukic: for having the coolest name and managing to work in a reference to the story**

**Dolphelecat: for your impressive copy-and-pasting skills, as well as answering all of my vitally important questions**

**TheSunisOnFire: for using the following emoticon, XD , which I can only assume is supposed to indicate a very happy dead person**

**kickingpj: for sharing your opinions on the vitally important topic of pie, and for using the most consecutive _r's_ in your impressive spelling of "more"**

**usernamez: for making an entire sentence out of the word "just"**

**SherlocktorWho: for surviving your plight with the squirrels and promptly forgiving my apparently offensive remarks**

**ScrewThatInternetHomo: for working in the most references to the story, as well as your semi-accurate speculations about the plot**

**aleprbla: for your kind remarks and encouragement **

**Finally, a word from Shakespeare: "O braggart vile and damned furious wight!"**

**Best wishes!**

**~Bethany**


	11. Arguing with the Woozy

Phil walked through a local park, attempting to distract himself from his and Dan's predicament. His efforts were in vain however, as the thoughts swirled around in his mind, pelting him with anxiety. What if all of the strange things that were happening were somehow connected to each other? What if things got worse? What if they really did have some neurological disorder? What if they could never be normal again? What if this was what going crazy felt like?

He was finally pulled out of his musings when he noticed that the girl who had been jogging progressively slower a few yards ahead of him had begun to stagger around. Then, he saw her collapse to the ground.

Concerned, Phil hurried ahead and knelt down next to her. "Hey, are you okay?" he asked, shaking her by the shoulders.

When she gave no response, Phil gently rolled the skinny, unconscious girl her over onto her back.

"Hello? Can you hear me?" he tried again.

He leaned his face in close to hers to check if she was still breathing. Suddenly, her eyes snapped open and she looked up at Phil in shock.

"Oh, good! You're awake," he smiled at her.

"Ohhh, why you?" she groaned weakly.

"Wait, what?"

"Why did it have to be you?" she repeated, still lying on the ground.

"I think you're confused," Phil frowned. "You passed out, and I... well, I didn't do much actually, but if you'd given me another minute, I would have-"

"No," she cut him off, "I mean, of all the people on this planet, what's the chance that Phil Lester would have to be the one to see my most embarrassing moment? I mean, I live in Connecticut; I'm only here in London for one week. Oh gosh! And I'm in my stupid sweatpants! This is a nightmare!"

"It's really not that bad," he reassured.

"No, it pretty much is!" she insisted, sitting up. "I mean, had I thought I was going to meet you, I would have worn my nice purple dress with the tiny white polka dots and the black cardigan with the lacy trim, leggings, and ballet flats. Not stupid sweatpants and a T-shirt! Plus, I would have straightened my hair so that it didn't look like a complete rat's nest, and lost another three pounds, and actually stuck with those stupid teeth whitening strips, and had the doctor remove that wart on my big toe, and put on some friggin' make-up, and gotten a manicure, and worn perfume, orAT LEAST SHOWERED!" she screamed the last three words.

Phil sat there for a second, not really sure what to say. "Well, I think you look fine," he finally ventured with a small chuckle.

"Fine. Fine. He thinks I look 'fine'!" she yelled sarcastically to no one in particular. "I didn't want to look 'fine' Phil; I wanted to look stunning! Gorgeous! Irresistible!"

"But… you were jogging," Phil pointed out. The female mind really did confuse him sometimes.

"Exactly!" she groaned. "We weren't supposed to meet yet. This is too soon. I had it all planned out. We were supposed to meet at VidCon, when all the girls would be pressing in on you and asking for you to sign their crap, and then I would be there, just hanging around the edges, waiting for my chance. When we finally met, I would be all nonchalant like, 'Wow, those girls are insane. Why can't they just treat you like a human being?' and then you would know that I was different from all the other fangirls and we would fall madly in love. That was our story, Phil! That was how it was supposed to go!"

"I'm… sorry?"

"Don't bother," she sulked. "You could never understand."

Phil sighed and stood up, offering a hand to the pissed off American. She took it and rose unsteadily to her feet.

"How about we start over?" he asked. "You obviously know who I am, but what's your name?"

"Olympia… Cumberbatch," she sighed.

"Cumberbatch? That's an interesting na-"

"Yes, yes, I know," she interrupted, "and before you bring him up, I'd rather not talk about my infamous second cousin. He's sort of the black sheep of the family."

Phil's eyes widened. "You don't mean Benedict Cumber-"

"WE DO NOT SPEAK HIS NAME!" she erupted, her face reddening. "Not after what he did at Aunt Myrtle's funeral!"

Phil was about to ask just what the BBC actor did to so shame the Cumberbatch family name, when Olympia swayed unsteadily and lost consciousness again.

He caught the plummeting girl rather ungracefully and lowered her down. "This is going to get old pretty quick," he muttered.

* * *

**A/N: Hello Lovely Reader!**

**You really are lovely, you know that? :)**

**Just as a heads up, this story will be about 35 chapters long. A collection plate is currently being passed up and down the aisles to buy KDaisyH (my wonderful beta-reader) a well-deserved fruit basket. Please convert all foreign currency to dollars ;)**

**And now, a reading from Shakespeare: "Your abilities are too infant-like for doing much alone" (which is strangely applicable, considering the beta-reading) :)**

**Best wishes!**

**~Bethany**


	12. Unintentional Altruism

It was the sound of pure, unadulterated terror. The bloodcurdling screams sent chills down Dan's spine and before he knew what was happening, he was sprinting as fast as he could in their direction. As he rounded the corner of the city block, he located the source of the disruption. An old apartment building was engulfed in flames, and in front of it, a terrified woman was struggling with the small crowd that had gathered.

"Get off me! Let me go!" the woman screamed, fighting off those attempting to keep her from running back into the building. "My niece's still in there! I have to get her out! Let me go!"

"Listen, lady! The building's ready to collapse; you can't go back in," a bystander argued.

Dan took this all in, not even slowing down in his mad dash towards the building. His legs felt as though they were moving independently of his brain, charging forward against his will towards the orange flames.

"Oi! What are you doing, kid?" someone called after him as he neared the entrance.

"I don't know!" Dan yelled back, trying desperately to stop his out of control body.

One of the bystanders jumped up to try to stop him, but wasn't quite fast enough. Before he knew what was happening, Dan found himself charging straight into the burning building.

Immediately, it was as though he had entered a different world. As he threw himself further into the rickety structure, the screaming voices outside became indistinguishable over the roar of the flames. The heat was incredible, and the smoke made it both difficult to breathe and impossible to see. Every cell in Dan's being wanted to turn around and flee from the building as quickly as possible, but something inside of him stubbornly refused, thrusting him further and further into the unknown.

_ "What are you doing?! Work, you stupid fucking legs! Away, not towards! I want to go away!"_ Dan commanded himself.

His legs were persistent however, never slowing despite the fact that their owner was essentially blind in the hazy building. A few seconds later, Dan found himself charging up what had to be a flight of stairs, three at a time.

The heroic part of Dan continued to ignore the internal protests, guiding him down a smoke-filled hallway and crashing him straight into a closed door. Against his will, Dan backed him up a few feet and charged forward again, knocking the wooden door rather impossibly off its hinges.

Squinting, Dan could barely make out a human figure lying unconscious on the floor. He dropped down and grabbed her, draping her limp body over his shoulder, and hurried out of the room back to the hallway.

When he reached the stairwell, his fear intensified exponentially. Through the billowing smoke, Dan could see that the flames were licking up the base of the stairs. To his horror, his body pressed him onwards, leaping down the stairs as he carried the limp girl directly into the heart of the fire.

What happened next was a bit of a blur. The heat was unlike anything Dan had ever experienced before and his only thought was of getting to the door. All around him, support beams groaned and bits of the ceiling rained down on him.

_ "This is it. I'm going to die. I am literally going to die. Oh god, this is it!" _his brain screamed.

Then all at once, it was over. The moment that Dan emerged from the building, two things happened. First, his legs stopped their unconscious sprint so abruptly that he was pitched forward onto the pavement. Second, the entire building collapsed – conveniently tumbling backwards rather than directly on top of him and the crowd of onlookers.

Dan lay face down on the ground, trying to understand what had just taken place as he coughed and sputtered. His vision was still hazy from the smoke, but he could hear the firefighters shouting at one another as they attempted to extinguish the flames, as well as the excited voices of at least four different bystanders as they assessed the situation.

"Did you see that? It was incredible!"

"Are they both alive?"

"He's coughing, you dunce! Of course he's alive!"

"It could be a reflex."

"No, it couldn't."

"Oi! What about the girl?"

"But did you see him come out of the building?!"

"That was a fucking wall of fire, and this bloke just charges on through!"

"I thought he was a goner!"

"Why aren't they burnt to a crisp?"

"Hell-o! Girl here! Dead or alive?!"

"Oceana! Oceana! Oh sweetie!"

"It was incredible! I can't even believe it!"

"Does _anyone_ know how to check a pulse?!"

"Move over, I'll do it."

"You know how?"

"Have you never seen a crime drama? It's easy!"  
"Sweetie! Oceana! Wake up! Oh dear god! Wake up!"

"This one's dead. Where's the other kid?"

"No! That can't be! Sweetie! Wake up!"

"Are you sure you did it right?"

"Close enough. Where's the other one?"

"No! Oceana Carter! You have to wake up! Your mother will kill me! I promised her you would be safe during your week here in London! Please wake up!"

"So, how do you check a pulse?"

"It's simple. Just put a couple of fingers on the side of their neck like this..."

Dan shot up off of the ground the instant he felt the stranger touch his neck.

"Whoa! Okay, this one seems to be alive," the pulse-checking stranger muttered.

With the sudden jolt, Dan's unintentional altruism kicked in again. He quickly crawled over to the unconscious girl whom he had just dragged out of the building, knelt down next to her, locked his fingers into a position he had only ever seen on TV, and began performing chest compressions while counting aloud.

"Do you know what you're doing?!" the terrified woman, whose screams had first attracted his attention, asked.  
"No idea!" he yelled back, equally terrified, "...and eleven, and twelve, and thirteen..."

When he reached thirty, he ceased pumping, placed one hand on the girl's chin, tilted her head back slightly, pinched her nose closed with his other hand, and locked his mouth around hers, puffing in two breaths of air. Then, he began again with the compressions.

"...and four, and five, and WHERE ARE THE BLOODY PARAMEDICS?!" he bellowed, "…and seven, and eight..."

"I think I hear the sirens," the woman anxiously replied.

Sure enough, a few seconds later an ambulance pulled up and a team of EMTs rushed onto the scene.

One medic tapped Dan on the shoulder. "Okay, you're good! Let me take over," he ordered.

"...and twenty-one, and twenty-two, and THANK GOD! …and twenty-four..." Dan exclaimed breathlessly. He tried to move away from the girl, but his arms continued to pump relentlessly on her chest.

"Okay, seriously, kid! Move over!" the EMT commanded more forcefully.

"…And thirty! I'd love to!" Dan exclaimed before dropping down to give the girl another two breaths, "but I can't! …and two, and three, and four…"

Two medics attempted to remove Dan from the girl, but they found it impossible. It was as though he had turned into solid stone. After approximately six minutes –

which felt like six hours – he dropped down and locked mouths with the girl to give yet another rescue breath.

Just as his lips touched, her eyes snapped open and she gasped for air. Immediately, Dan's body ceased its heroic resuscitation attempts, allowing its exhausted owner to collapse onto the gasping girl.

* * *

**A/N: Hello Lovely Reader!**

**I'm received some plot speculation, via both reviews and PM. Please feel free to express said speculations (read: duke it out) in the review section. (Unless you're a certain beta-reader *cough* *Naomi* *cough*, in which case that's just not fair) ;)**

**And thank you so much for the support! My wonderful beta-reader should be receiving her virtual fruit basket within 5-7 business days. **

**The rest of you can have a virtual hug now *hugs*, unless of course you find being virtually hugged by an essential stranger invasive, in which case: *grateful smile, which implies strong desire to hug but does not encroach on personal space* :)**

**Complimentary Shakespearean insult of the day: "Methink'st thou art a general offence, and every man should beat thee" (Shakespeare, William. ****_All's Well That Ends Well. _****Act II, scene 3. 1623).**

**Best wishes!**

**~Bethany **


	13. They're Dropping Like Flies

After several hours of medical examinations, news reports, testimonies, and smothering hugs from the girl's overjoyed aunt, Dan opened the door and stumbled into his apartment.

"Phil?" he called wearily. "You home?"

At Dan's voice, his friend burst out of the living room, knocking over a side table and tripping over a power cord in his mad rush to the entryway. Phil righted himself awkwardly and leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest in an obvious attempt to look casual.

"Oh good! You're home," Phil smiled forcedly. "I'm gay and I love you! But not really. You know, I think we're out of milk… can you run to the store and get some? I definitely remember going last time."

"Milk isn't one of our seven edible foods, remember?" Dan asked. "Besides, I really need to sit down. You will not _believe_ the day I've had."

Dan attempted to move past, but Phil blocked his path. "I think I heard someone outside calling your name. Better go and see what they need."

Dan raised an eyebrow. "Phil, you're being really weird…"

"Weird? Me? No! I just really think that you should go back outside; you look like you could use a walk."

"Are you hiding something from me?"

"Absolutely not."

"Then I'll just…" Dan began, pushing Phil aside slightly.

"Please, don't go in there," Phil begged. "Just go back outside! Please?"

But it was too late. Dan stared into the living room in disbelief. Lying perfectly still on the floor, in neat rows, were about a dozen teenage girls.

He turned to look at his agonized friend. "What the _hell_, Phil?!"

"It's not what it looks like!" Phil blurted out.

"Oh it better not be, because it looks pretty fucking bad!" Dan exclaimed. Then a horrible thought occurred to him, and he got very quiet. "They're not… dead, are they?" he whispered.

"No! God no. Not dead; just passed out, I think."

"I see," Dan said, trying with all his might to remain calm. "And why, pray tell, are there…" he stopped for a second to count, "…eleven girls passed out on our living room floor?"

Phil looked around awkwardly. "Right, well, this is going to sound a bit weird…"

Dan sighed and covered his face with his hands. "Frankly, I would be more concerned if there was a _non-weird_ reason for eleven unconscious girls to be lying on our floor."

Phil took a deep breath and told Dan all about his encounter with Olympia Cumberbatch.

"And," he concluded, indicating a skinny girl clad in workout clothes, "you see why I couldn't just leave her there. I mean, she could barely stand up. I didn't know what else to do, so I just picked her up and carried her back here."

Dan shook his head slowly in disbelief. "This," he said as he held up his phone, "is 'what else to do'. When you find an unconscious girl, you call an ambulance, Phil; you don't pick her up and carry her home!"

"See, and that makes perfect sense now," Phil explained, "but you have to understand, it was a lot different in the moment. Honestly, I don't remember deciding to bring her home; it just sort of… happened."

Dan thought back to his own adventurous day and decided to go a little easier on his friend. "Okay, fine. So that explains why _this_ girl is on our floor; but what about the other ten?"

"Like I said," Phil shifted uncomfortably, "it was weird. On the way home with Olympia, I met Oakley Cornell over here," he said, pointing to the girl next to Olympia. "She told me that she's a big fan, she lives in America, and she's only here for a week on holiday. Then she passed out. So, since I couldn't carry them both, I ran Olympia home, and then went back out to get Oakley."

Phil pointed to the next girl in line as he continued. "Let's see, then on the way back with Oakley, I met Odette Cansdor. She told me that she was a big fan and the she lives in America and is only here for a week on holiday, and then she passed out too. So, I took Oakley home and went out to pick up Odette, and that's when I met Osanna Cartwright…"

"For the sake of time," Dan interrupted, "does every girl have essentially the same story?"

Phil thought for a second. "You know, now that you mention it…"

"So, not only are we housing eleven unconscious girls, but they're also all big fans of you and on holiday from America?"

"Yes."

"So, correct me if I'm wrong, but we're still in London, right?"

"We are still in London."

"And London is still in England, right?"

"As far as I know."

"And England is still in Europe, right?"

"Yep."

"And there are still girls in Europe, right?"

"I certainly hope so."

"Okay, in that case: WHY IS EVERY GIRL WE MEET AMERICAN?!" Dan shouted.

"Strange, isn't it?" Phil mused.

The two stepped carefully around the girls and sat down on the couch, silently staring at the sea of Americans. It was a long time before Phil broke the spell.

"Should I call an ambulance?" he asked sheepishly.

Dan scoffed. "It's a bit late for that now. What would you tell them?"

"The… truth?"

"Right. We'll just tell them that a twenty-six year old guy just _happened_ to run across eleven unconscious teenage girls in one day, but had absolutely no involvement in their current state. They should buy that one," Dan said, his voice dripping sarcasm.

"What's your plan then?" Phil asked, annoyed.

"I guess we have to just wait for them to wake up…"

"What do you think I've been doing for the past four hours?" Phil demanded.

"No one has woken up in _four hours_?" Dan asked incredulously.

"Sure, but they take one look at me and they're out again. Look, I think Orlena is coming around now."

Sure enough, one of the girls blinked a few times and slowly sat up, looking utterly confused.

"Where am I?" she murmured. She looked around at the rows of other girls and then up to the couch.

"Hey," Dan said, with an awkward wave, "it's not what it looks like."

But Orlena was already out again, the back of her head hitting the floor with a thump that made Dan wince.

"They're dropping like flies," Phil said miserably. "What are we going to do?"

"I'm gay and I love you!" Dan blurted out. He shook his head to compose himself. "Not really, but I do have an idea…"

* * *

**A/N: Hello Lovely Reader!**

**I hope you're all doing well. Personally, I've been writing essays all day. **

**Here's a word of advice: if you ever have a big essay due, drink 3-4 cups of a caffeinated beverage (such as tea) before you start and don't let yourself pee until you've met the page/word requirement. I don't think I've ever spit out an essay faster. Quality may have suffered a bit (I've yet to proof-read it), but we can't have everything, can we? ;)**

**As is our custom, please feel free to copy-and-paste any of the following sample reviews if they adequately express your thoughts, feelings, and opinions regarding this story or life in general:**

**"I once passed out in public and was carried home by a British guy... and I'm offended!"**

**"I FOUND A TYPO!" (Thank you, please let me know where it is so that I may correct it :) )**

**"I never read your authors notes" (That's okay, nobody does... which means I'm talking to myself again... oh dear)**

**"Stop writing example reviews. Your attempts at self-deprecating humor are flimsy at best" (I know, I'm sorry)**

**"(Thine) face is not worth sunburning" ~William Shakespeare (****_Henry V_****. Act 5, scene 2) **

**Best wishes!**

**~Bethany**


	14. Rain, Rain, Go Away

The next morning, Dan and Phil sat on the sofa, munching on Maltesers and Pocky. Their Doctor Who marathon had just ended, and Phil was flipping aimlessly through the channels.

"Wait! Go back!" Dan exclaimed. "That's the building!"

Phil flipped back over to the news channel, which was displaying shaky footage of a burning apartment complex, obviously shot by cell phone camera.

"… Whilst the cause of the fire is still unknown, the good news is that amazingly, no one was seriously injured, thanks in part to the heroic actions of Mr. Stan Howdel. Witnesses state that upon hearing screams, Howsel ran back into the building to rescue a thirteen-year-old girl who was trapped on the fourth floor. Let's hear from one of our witnesses now."

The report cut to footage of the pulse-checking bystander, who waved excitedly at the camera. "Hi, Mum!" he called.

"Sir, what can you tell us about the heroic actions of Mr. Howson?" a reporter asked the man.

"Who?"

"The young man who rescued Oceana Carter earlier today," she clarified.

"Oh! You mean the kid! What did you say his name was?"

"Howkins."

"Right! Well, it was amazing! I mean, the fire department wouldn't even go in because they said the building was too unstable, and then this kid, Howlton, runs in and we all thought he was a goner! Then he comes bursting out of the building, running though a fricken' wall of fire! It was incredible! Of course, I don't think either Howorth or the girl would still be alive without my emergency medical interventions…" he rambled on.

The camera cut back to the studio reporter, who let out a forced laugh. "Ha! Thanks, Mary, for that eyewitness report! Yes, it's true that Mr. Howland is a real hero. Of course, had he died in his attempt, he would be considered a royal idiot! Ha!"

Dan rolled his eyes, and the reporter went on.

"…Howard also has a popular channel on the new-fangled video sharing site, 'YouCube' as 'stanisincombustible'. His username sure proved prophetic yesterday!"

"Oh come on! Are you going to get anything right?" Dan groaned.

"I don't know, Stan, I thought it was pretty accurate," Phil snickered.

"…Howette is best known for including a stuffed lion in the background of his videos, which he annotates to make snide remarks…" the broadcast continued.

"Hey! That's my thing!" Phil yelped.

"And now it's stanisincombustible's thing," Dan winked.

Phil was about to turn off the TV when the next story came on.

"…In other news, no less than eleven unconscious girls between the ages of thirteen and eighteen were discovered yesterday within a three-mile radius of each other. Over the course of two hours, paramedics received more than twenty separate calls from concerned citizens who reported finding these girls on the ground in public places. Some witnesses state that they also observed either a brown or black haired male character shout something along the lines of, 'Oh dear! It seems as though this girl has passed out!' before swiftly fleeing the scene…"

Dan and Phil exchanged a grin.

"…Although the toxin screen on all eleven girls came back clean, health officials are concerned that they may have been drugged with a new substance which is not yet included in standard drug tests…"

_ "_Hey! I didn't drug anyone!" Phil exclaimed at the TV. "They just… fell over."

"Oh, it's clearly your fault, Phil," Dan said sensually. "You're so hot, you make the ladies _swoon_."

"Shut up!" Phil laughed, lightly punching his friend on the arm.

"Ow!" Dan yelped. He pulled up his shirt sleeve to reveal a fist-sized purplish-green mark. "Not the left! Oracle already pounded the crap out of that one!"

"Sorry, I'd forgotten you'd been beat-up by a little girl," Phil smirked.

"That was no little girl!" Dan argued. "She was possessed, I tell you."

Dan and Phil spent the rest of the day indoors, playing video games, surfing the web, eating from their very limited variety of foods, and generally trying to recuperate from their adventures. All in all, it was relatively uneventful. Even the frequency of their unintentional declarations decreased from a several times an hour to only once every few hours, allowing them to sort of pretend that things were normal.

Around 11:00 P.M., the sky, which had been overcast all day, seemed to erupt and began cascading down sheets of water.

Phil gazed out the window at the magnificent downpour. "In a stunning turn of events…" he began in his best John Green impression.

"…it's raining in England," Dan finished on cue. But Phil noticed his friend looked a bit uneasy.

By the time Phil crawled into bed, there was a proper storm brewing outside, with lightning flashing and thunder booming. He had just begun to drift off when an exceptionally loud thunderclap jolted him back up again. Slightly annoyed, he rolled over and gasped upon seeing a shadowy figure standing in his doorway.

"Who's there?!" he cried anxiously, fumbling around for the lamp.

"Just me," came the quavering response.

"Dan?" Phil asked, locating and switching on the light. His flatmate stood trembling in the doorway, some odd mix of determination and fear in his eyes. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. How are you?" Dan replied as casually as possible, considering the fact that he was still shaking.

Phil looked at him curiously. "I'm good… did you need something?"

"Oh, not really. I just thought I'd say goodnight."

"We already did that."

"Oh did we?" Dan chuckled nervously, "I must've forgotten. Oh well, goodnight again then," he said before speeding out of the room.

"Goodnight, Dan," Phil called cautiously after him.

Shaking his head, Phil climbed back into bed and was about to lie down again when the sky lit up and another monstrous boom rang out. He heard the tell-tale sound of feet running down the hallway, and in another moment, Dan was in his doorway again.

"Hey," Dan awkwardly waved.

"Long time no see," Phil mock-saluted. "What do you want?"

"Uh…" Dan glanced around the room nervously, "my shirt. I think you borrowed my shirt and I just wanted to make sure you remembered to give it back."

"Right now?"

"Oh no, anytime," Dan said quickly. "Just thought I'd… remind you about it. So, uh, goodnight!"

Phil looked him in the eyes. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Absolutely. Why wouldn't I be?"

Just then, the storm produced another deafening clap, and before Phil knew what was happening, Dan had leapt into his bed.

"Uh, Dan?" Phil asked. "Why are you in my bed?"

"I don't know," Dan replied, trembling again.

"Are you scared of the storm?"

"No!" Dan said indigently, "I'm twenty-one years old; I am definitely not scared of a stupid thunderstorm."

More thunder boomed outside and Dan buried his face in the covers.

"I don't judge," Phil smirked, clearly judging.

"Fine," Dan admitted as he removed his head from the tangled sheets, "I'm not scared of thunderstorms… except for this one, right now."

Phil stifled a giggle with a fake coughing fit. Dan glared at him.

"Sorry," Phil said, forcing a straight face.

The room was illuminated by yet another flash of lightning, followed by the familiar clap. Dan clamped his hands over his ears and shut his eyes tightly, reminding Phil of a toddler.

"It's okay, Dan," Phil said comfortingly. "Thunder can't hurt you."

Dan opened his eyes just long enough to roll them at Phil. "I _know_ that!" he groaned. "I'm not a little kid!"

"THEN GET OUT OF MY BED!" Phil exclaimed.

"Let me rephrase. My brain knows that; the rest of me is scared as shit."

"Can't you go be scared in your own room?"

"I can't. Trust me; I've tried, but I really can't. It's like I'm being physically dragged back here."

"I see."

After a bit more thunder and the subsequent reactions Dan asked, "Um, can I sleep in here tonight?"

Phil sighed. "There doesn't seem to be a whole lot of choice, does there?"

"No, sorry. Thanks."

"No drooling, no kicking, no spooning, no blanket-hogging, no sleep-talking, and we are both going to be fully clothed," Phil added quickly, "and I love you and I'm gay!"

Dan grinned. "You're a true friend."

* * *

**A/N: Hello Lovely Reader!**

**This was probably the most fun chapter to write :)**

**Please feel free to let me know in the reviews whether or not you consider me, yourself, your friend, your friend's-friend's-cousin's-dog-sitter's-next-door- neighbor, your chemistry lab partner, or any of the characters in the story thus far to be: **

**"A most notable coward, an infinite and endless liar, an hourly promise-breaker, the owner of no one good quality worthy your lordship's entertainment" (Shakespeare, William. ****_All's Well That Ends Well._**** Act III, Scene VI, 1623).**

**Best wishes,**

**~Bethany **


	15. Adapting

And thus, the days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months, proving that people really can get used to just about anything if necessary. Dan and Phil had to accept the fact that inexplicable and weird things just happened to them: constantly. They tried to make the best of it.

For instance, Dan always left the apartment at least three hours before he needed to be somewhere, as he could count on performing some heroic rescue along the way. By the end of April, he had saved two girls from drowning, pulled another one out of the way of an oncoming train, stopped three from getting hit by cars, caught one who was falling off a ladder, and talked-down eight different girls from attempting suicide.

Phil took a few first aid classes from the local hospital so as to better deal with all of the unconscious girls and other medical emergencies he mysteriously encountered. He soon lost count of all the fainting, seizures, panic attacks, and choking incidents he had to deal with. After a few months, he had become good friends with three different London ambulance drivers, who joked that with all of Phil's field experience, he was at least half-way to becoming a doctor.

Dan consistently slopped his Starbucks drinks on random girls, despite concocting elaborate strategies to avoid doing so. These ranged from pretending that both of his arms were broken so that he could ask fellow customers to carry his drinks for him, to wrapping the entire cup of coffee tightly in a roll of plastic wrap before leaving the counter, to finally just shouting out, "Extremely clumsy person walking with hot coffee; NOBODY MOVE!" Still, nothing worked. Eventually, he just gave up and started carrying around a towel and extra T-shirt for his victims to use.

About once per week, Dan, Phil, or both would get either mugged or beaten-up by complete strangers for seemingly no reason. Eventually, they just embraced it as a part of their odd life and –as Oracle had advised– learned to roll with the punches. Before long they were fighting back, using maneuvers acquired from YouTube Karate training videos, which while not being the most reliable source of self-defense information, at least stopped them from getting their asses kicked.

One of the most exciting developments occurred when Phil discovered that they were also able to consume certain flavors of ShakeAway, thus bringing their number of edible foods up from seven, to eight.

They continued to "come out" to each other, but far less frequently than at the beginning. While Dan and Phil had taken to completely ignoring the unintentional outbursts and carefully editing them out of YouTube videos, they proved to be quite nerve-racking during Radio 1 shows.

Thankfully, Phil discovered a special effect which sounded like a chicken rapping, and kept his finger hovering over the button throughout the entire show so as to press it the second he or Dan began to blurt out the familiar phrase. The effect was the perfect mix of adorable, random, and most importantly, loud enough to mask their voices until they could turn off the microphone.

In the beginning, the two were worried that listeners would complain about the odd interruption, but it actually became a popular feature. Dan and Phil eventually made it into a competition: whoever was the fifth caller after the chicken rapped would receive a free "Rapping Chicken Dan and Phil BBC Radio 1 T-shirt". Their producers thought it was genius.

Despite all of the progress they made in adapting to their new situation, there were still plenty of serious problems. For one, their social lives took a remarkable downhill turn, as Dan and Phil were still too scared to tell even their closest friends what was happening to them. So often were the two overcome by urges to do things against their will that they regularly questioned their own sanity.

But the worst part was that Dan had begun to hate Maltesers.

* * *

**A/N: Hello Lovely Reader!**

**This has been what we in the biz like to refer to as "a filler chapter". It's not very pleasant; it's not very interesting; but it has to be done. Like getting a cavity filled, or working in fast-food (I feel your pain), or filing your taxes (Reminder: my fellow Americans, the last day for that is tomorrow...), or attempting to bathe the hyperactive 4-year-old you're supposed to be babysitting, or doing your laundry, or taking your college entrance exams, or tying your shoelaces, or waiting at the DMV, or clipping your toenails, or letting obscure relatives pinch your cheeks at family gatherings, or making small talk, or voting, or... actually, most things in life.**

**Wow, I think I've just taught you all a valuable life lesson. Either that or I've just sent you into a fit of despair, sobbing, "What's the point of anything anymore?!" If that's the case, I apologize profusely.**

**Quick question: would you buy the rapping chicken T-shirt? I assume it would be in an obnoxious safety-orange color... let me know in reviews! :)**

**Or, if you prefer a more classical review: "You scullion! You rampallian! You fustilarian! I'll tickle your catastrophe" (Shakespeare, William. ****_Henry IV, Part II_****. Act III, scene I. 1600).**

**Best wishes!**

**~Bethany **


	16. Sword Drills

**…..**

_As I gaze deeply into her beautiful eyes, I feel all of the nervousness inside me wash completely away. How can I be scared when I'm going to be with the love of my life forever now?_

_Gabriella smiles at me, and leans in for a quick kiss. Then she lowers her vale down over her face. "No more until the ceremony is over, Daniel," she teases._

_"I'm the luckiest man in the world," I say._

_"No, you're wrong. That would be me," Phil corrects._

_From the other side of the room, I can see him adjusting the bowtie on his tuxedo. His own soon-to-be-bride blushes next to him._

_"Right, Penelope?" he asks her, depositing a kiss on her soft lips. "What more could I ask for? I get to marry the love of my life at the same time that my best friend marries her identical twin sister. I knew the double wedding was a good idea!"_

_"Just think, Phil," I smile," if I hadn't spilled my coffee on Gabriella last Tuesday, we never would have met our true loves and be having a double ceremony in the…_

**…..**

"Melanie Russo!"

Melanie hastily closed the notebook and looked up at the youth pastor. "Yeah?"

"What are you still doing over here? I called you all to go to the activity center ten minutes ago."

"Sorry, Pastor Joe, I didn't hear you," she mumbled, following him out of the sanctuary and toward the miniscule gym.

"I'm not surprised," he remarked. "You're always scribbling in those books. What kind of stuff do you write anyway?"

"Oh, just… stories," Melanie replied. "Ideas, you know."

"Well, you could do wonders for your spiritual life if you put the same intensity into studying the Bible that you do into those stories," he concluded as he pushed open the gym doors.

"Alright everyone!" he announced to the thirty or so kids in the activity center, "Today we're doing sword drills!"

The room erupted into cheers and groans. Melanie was among the groaners.

Sword drills, as the pastor went on to explain, were competitions designed to showcase how quickly the students could look up Bible verses.

"As we all know," he went on, "the name for this activity comes from Hebrews 4:12, which states, 'For the word of God is living and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart.'"

_ "Sounds violent_," Melanie thought.

The game was simple. Two students would face each other, holding Bibles over their heads, and wait for the cue. Upon receiving a random verse reference from the pastor, both kids would race to look up the verse and read it out loud. As in all youth group games, the winners received candy.

"And don't forget," the pastor added, "if you already have the verse memorized and can recite it accurately, you automatically win the round and get double the candy!"

Melanie rolled her eyes. She was profoundly terrible at this game, despite the fact that she had been playing it at least once a month since third grade. She had a very selective memory, and the order of the sixty-six biblical books had never piqued her interest long enough for her to memorize them, leaving her flipping through endless pages while the other students snickered at her.

"Rosa and Jeremy," Pastor Joe called, "prepare for battle… Lamentations 3:6!"

Melanie tried to pay attention as her peers were called up one after another to aggressively look up scriptures in the hopes of winning banana-flavored Laffy Taffy, but before long, her mind was wandering back to Dan, Phil, and of course, VidCon.

She couldn't believe her luck. Melanie had actually managed to talk her mom into letting her go to VidCon in the summer, and she was beyond ecstatic about it. She literally spent hours each day dreaming up what she would say when she got the chance to meet her idols. Those three months before August might as well have been three years for how slowly the time seemed to crawl for Melanie while she waited for the convention.

She was caught up daydreaming just how Dan would pop the big question to her, when the sound of her name startled her back to youth group.

"Melanie and Rachel, prepare for battle… Daniel 4:19-20!"

Melanie shot her hand up into the air. "Memorized!" she announced.

The pastor looked shocked. "Really?"

"Yep! I've memorized the first ten chapters of Daniel!"

"Wow, Mel! I'm impressed. That's not an easy book to learn. Let's hear it then."

"Okay," She cleared her throat. "_Book of Daniel_ 4:19-20, 'A little word of advice, try not to tell them yet that you're actually planning on chopping them up or raping them because it's probably only going to drive them away so - yeah, I know it's hard but just try to keep it under wraps for at least a couple more days. And, I mean, that's all there is to it. Just follow these easy steps and before you know it you'll be in the bedroom of the person you've been thinking…'"

She trailed off when she noticed the other students stifling giggles.

"Uh, Mel? What was that?" Pastor Joe asked, confused.

Melanie frowned. "Oh crap! Are you counting videos that he took down too? Because the book only includes the ones that are currently available on his channel."

"Mel, what are you talking about?"

Suddenly, Melanie realized that he had probably meant the biblical book of Daniel.

"Nothing," she muttered.

The rest of youth group passed anxiously for Melanie. As soon as she spotted her mother coming to pick her up, she ran over to her.

"Let's go, Mom," she begged, guiding Ms. Russo to the door.

"Just a sec, Mel," her mother protested. "Pastor Joe promised me a copy of his wife's blueberry muffin recipe."

Melanie groaned and waited restlessly by the door, hoping that the pastor would not feel the need to share about her little mix-up.

At first, Mel thought that she was in the clear when Ms. Russo walked back calmly, but as soon as they entered the car, her mother exploded.

"Melanie Grace Russo, I have never been so embarrassed in my life! What the hell were you thinking? You were in a church, not sitting in your room watching that crap on the internet!"

"It's not crap!" Melanie yelled back. "It's made of awesome!"

"I will not have you using those stupid phrases in my car! This is unbelievable! I've put up with your ridiculous obsession for two years, but this is the last straw! You are grounded from YouTube, Facebook, Twitter, that fanfiction site, and… oh, what's that blue one with the moving pictures called?"

Melanie rolled her eyes. "Tumblr."

"That one. You know what? I'll make it easy for you. No internet, no laptop, no iPad, and no cell phone until I'm convinced that you're sane again."

"What?!" Melanie shrieked. "You might as well just kill me! What am I supposed to do? I'll be so out of the loop when I go to VidCon!"

"_If_ you go to VidCon," her mother corrected.

"Oh my god! You can't take VidCon away! I already bought the tickets and told all my friends and planned it all out and everything! If you won't let me go, I swear I'll, I'll run away and go by myself! And then I'll elope with the first guy I meet there, and I won't ever give you grandchildren, and I'll move to New Zealand, and I'll never visit you again, and, and-"

"That's enough, Mel," her mom said sternly.

After a few minutes of silent fuming from both parties, Ms. Russo spoke again.

"Look, because you already bought the tickets, I'll still let you go so long as you abide by every one of these restrictions, and I mean every one, Melanie. If I catch you so much as twittering one stupid 'twit' or whatever you call it without my express permission, you can kiss that conference goodbye."

As soon as they arrived home, Melanie locked herself in her room and paced from one end to the other, angry tears clouding her vision.

"What did I do that was so wrong?" she demanded of her stuffed animals. "Since when is it a crime to like people? This is so unfair!"

But not even Lion or Totoro could cheer her up.

Eventually, her anger turned to despair as she realized that VidCon was in August, which was still three months away.

After a few hours of angst-y thoughts, she picked up her phanfiction notebook, ripped out all thirteen pages of the wedding story she had been working on, and crumpled them into a ball.

_ "If I can't be happy anymore, neither can they_," she thought bitterly, pitching the wad of paper into the trash.

* * *

**A/N: Hello Lovely Reader!**

**Did anyone else ever have to do sword drills at youth group? No? Just me? Okay. Not to brag, but I was pretty good at them ;)**

**Anyway, feel free to speculate about what comes next in the reviews! Things are going to be picking up speed now... I'm excited.**

**And now, a word from our revered playwright; "There's no more faith in thee than in a stewed prune" (Shakespeare, William. ****_Henry IV, Part I. _****Act III, scene III, 1597).**

**Best wishes!**

**~Bethany**

**P.S. The spell-check on this site does not recognize "Zealand" as a word. Is anyone from New Zealand out there? Do you often have that problem? I was sort of getting offended on your behalf... **


	17. Wallowing

Back in London, Phil stood in the kitchen unpacking the Tesco bags. He tried to think on the bright side as he stacked yogurt cartons in the otherwise bare fridge. At least putting away groceries had become much more efficient.

To break up the monotony of their ridiculous diet, he and Dan had taken to modifying all aspects of their food that they still had control of, which provided them with varying degrees of success.

Temperature was an obvious one. Some ideas, like frozen yogurt, worked quite well. Others, such as ShakeAway soup, were decidedly awful.

Burning food provided a different flavor, but the benefits had to be balanced with the increased cancer risks, so they saved that preparation technique for special occasions.

When Dan complained that it had been months since they'd eaten anything green, Phil bought several bottles of food coloring. While it wasn't quite what Dan had meant, he said he'd appreciated the gesture.

Texture was Phil's favorite attribute to manipulate. One of his tricks was mincing up different foods and shaping them into… well… anything else. Sometimes, he would top his creations with Pom-Bears or Pocky pieces. He had come a long way from his wimpy "cereal experiments".

When he finished putting away the food, Phil glanced up at the clock on the stove. It was nearly three in the afternoon.

_ "That's weird_," Phil thought, "_I don't think Dan even got up today."_

He walked over to Dan's room and rapped on the door. The only response was a disinterested grunt.

"Dan?" he called. "Can I come in?"

He heard another grunt.

"Is that a yes?"

A third grunt issued from behind the door.

"Okay then."

He slowly opened the door and peeked his head in. Dan was lying on the floor in the fetal position, a completely dazed look across his face.

"Dan!" Phil gasped. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Go away," Dan replied in monotone, still not moving off the floor.

Phil frowned. "Then why don't you get up?"

"What's the point?"

"The point?"

"Why should I move? Life is easier down here. Nothing weird happens."

Phil knelt down next to his flatmate and looked at him anxiously. "This, right now, is something weird."

"No it's not. Shut up."

Phil grabbed Dan's limp arm and tugged. "Come on, get up."

"Leave me alone," Dan groaned, "I want to die in peace."

Phil dropped the arm. "Okay, you're officially scaring me now. You're not dying, Dan. We've been doing fine for four months; what makes today any different?"

"Go away."

"Please get up?"

"Go away."

"What if I give you Maltesers for getting up?"

"I would puke. Go away."

"That used to work…" Phil sighed. "Alright, _if_ I go away," he began cautiously, "what are you going to do?"

"Await death."

"I see."

After a moment of thought, Phil stood back up and walked around the room, removing every sharp object he could see.

"Okay," he said finally, arms loaded with potential dangers, "guess I'll check in on you later."

And with that, he left the room.

* * *

**A/N: Hello Lovely Reader,**

**Sorry this chapter is late. I've spent a good chunk of the day in the hospital ICU. My grandma has both renal (kidney) and congestive heart failure, so they think she's has only a few days at most. Sorry to be depressing in the middle of a humorous fic, but I guess I'm just explaining why I'm not writing a very nice author's note. Not really feeling it right now :/**

**Thankfully, Shakespeare did all his writing several centuries ago. The most fitting quote I could find was: **

**"To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,  
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,  
To the last syllable of recorded time;  
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools  
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!  
Life's but a walking shadow" (****_Macbeth_****)**

**Best wishes,**

**~Bethany**


	18. Leap of Faith

However, Phil didn't come back to check on Dan.

After a few more hours of wallowing, the overwhelming feeling of despair lifted, and Dan was able to pull himself up off the floor. He shuffled out of his room to find himself alone in the apartment.

Too exhausted to think much of it, he grabbed some Pocky from the kitchen and sat down in front of the TV for some distraction. He had been playing some version of Final Fantasy for about twenty minutes when his phone – which had been sitting on the table throughout his whole episode –began to vibrate. Sighing, he reached over to check it and noticed it was from Phil.

"Hello?"

His friend's voice was equal parts urgent and petrified. "Dan! I'm going to jump!"

Dan dropped the controller. "Wait, what?"

"I'm about to jump!"

"Off what?!"

"The roof of the parking garage!"

Over the past few months, Dan had learned not to ask questions, no matter how weird something sounded. He bolted out of his seat and ran for the door, trying to cram his shoes on as he sprinted outside.

"Don't move! I'll be right there!" Dan said urgently. He kept talking to his hysterical flatmate as he flew across the street and raced up the parking garage levels. A few agonizing minutes later, he burst out onto the roof, panting heavily.

There, standing on top of the concrete barrier which separated the roof of the parking garage from the world below, was Phil. His toes were up to the very edge and he wore a look of utmost terror on his face.

"Phil, get down from there!" Dan commanded, approaching cautiously.

Phil rolled his eyes. "Don't you think I've been trying to do that for the past two hours?"

"You've been up here for _two hours_?" Dan gawked.

"Only because _someone_ wasn't picking up his bloody phone!"

Even as Phil answered, his toes crept closer to the edge. Below them, they could hear the sounds of cars whizzing past, occasionally interrupted by honking horns or sirens.

"Hurry!" Phil begged.

Dan took a step forward, and Phil matched it, his right foot now suspended over the edge while he balanced on his left. Phil gasped, swinging his arms in a desperate attempt to maintain balance, unable to get his right foot back to the ledge.

All at once, Dan felt the familiar sense of time slowing down and something besides his brain controlling his actions. As Phil lost his balance and screamed, Dan sprinted towards the edge of the structure. Seeing his friend plunging over the side, he leapt into the air – arms stretched out in front of him and feet behind, superman style. Just as his chest crashed down onto the barrier's edge with a force that surely had to crack a rib or two, he managed to grasp one of Phil's outstretched wrists from midair.

At first, Dan thought that they would both go straight over. The momentum of his plummeting flatmate dragged him at least halfway over the edge. Then miraculously, Dan's foot caught on something, and they came to an abrupt halt, Dan desperately trying to remain on the building, and Phil swinging wildly from his arm.

"Pull me up! Pull me up! Pull me up!" Phil screamed as swung.

Dan struggled with all of his might to drag Phil back, but it was impossible. Gravity was clearly at an advantage, and it was all he could do to keep his grip.

"I can't!" Dan yelled, "you're too heavy!"

"Come on, Dan!" Phil implored. "Use the adrenaline!"

"Adrenaline is the reason you're not dead yet!" Dan retorted. "Upper body strength is the reason you're not back on the roof!"

"I thought you started going to the gym!"

"This is not the time, Phil!"

"This might be the only time there is!"

"Aah! Fine!" Dan relented. "I did go to the gym, but I just sat in the locker room and worked on video scripts. It's amazing how productive you can be when you're avoiding something!"

At that moment, Phil's hand slipped a bit and Dan almost lost him.

"Dan, do something!" Phil hollered. "We can't stay like this forever!"

"Well, you're the one who stood on a roof for two hours with a _fucking phone_ in his pocket and still didn't call

9-9-9!"

"What would I tell them?! That I _might _jump off a roof? And I did call someone: _you_!"

"Well, I was busy!"

"What in tarnation are you boys doing?!"

Dan and Phil stopped shouting immediately, noticing an elderly-looking black woman approaching them, a cigarette in one hand.

"Please help us!" Dan begged, struggling to maintain his grip on Phil. "Call 9-9-9 or something! Please!"

She crossed her arms over her chest. "That's only for emergencies," she answered in a southern American accent. "Now, quit goofing around."

"This is an emergency!" Dan protested. "We're _literally_ going to die!"

"Just pull him up," she ordered.

"I CAN'T!"

The woman rolled her eyes and approached the precariously balanced duo. "Kids these days…" she muttered, sticking the cigarette between her teeth.

She grabbed a fistful of Dan's shirt with each hand, and yanked him backward. In three quick tugs – which almost shook Phil off – she managed to hoist them both back up to the surface.

"How d-did you d-do that?" Phil asked shakily once he was standing on the solid ground again.

Tutting, she launched into a long and boring account of how young people in her day were required to rise before the sun, milk cows, muck stalls, chop firewood, and then walk five miles in scorching hot blizzards to get to school, uphill both ways.

"Right," Dan said when she finally stopped for a breath, "I think I hear my favorite London cow mooing now. We'd better go milk him." He backed up and grabbed his friend's arm. "Come on, Phil."

Phil frowned. "You mean milk _her_. Cows are female; bulls are male."

But Dan was already dragging him back down the levels.

* * *

**A/N: Hello Lovely Reader!**

**First, thank you soooo much for all the support regarding my Grandma. You have no idea how much that meant to me... You all are so kind :') She's currently in a coma, and they expect her to pass tonight or tomorrow, so she'll be out of pain soon. It'll be good for her. We all got to say goodbye while she was conscious, so we're thankful for that. **

**On a happier note, this is about the half-way point in the story :) Thanks soooo much for sticking around everyone! You've been fantastic. If you're enjoying the story, be sure to thank my lovely beta reader, KDaisyH, for all her work (virtual fruit baskets are quite popular I hear) :)**

**Oh, and of course: "(Thou art) like a toad; ugly and venomous" ~ William Shakespeare, ****_As You Like It._**

**Best wishes!**

**~Bethany **


	19. Social Rules

Since their lives had already turned upside down, Dan and Phil had thought that it couldn't get much worse. Unfortunately, what followed was a whole new level of hell.

The phrase "emotional roller coaster" couldn't quite express exactly how the next few weeks felt for them. Perhaps "emotional-roller-coaster-with-several-vitally-imp ortant-bolts-missing-and-no-barf-bags-managed-by-a n-incompetent-teenager-who-doesn't-give-a-shit-in- the-midst-of-a-hurricane" would give a more accurate description.

The experience couldn't really be called "depression"; not in the normal sense of the word anyway. When they would spend hours at a time staring blankly at carpet fibers, empty walls, and glowing computer screens, they didn't exactly feel depressed. They felt more paralyzed, as though they were not in control of anything anymore. It was quite frightening.

Phil, surprisingly, was the one to figure out that alcohol was still on their consumable foods list. Dan learned of this the hard way when he had to fend off his uncharacteristically aggressive and inebriated flatmate one Tuesday evening. When asked _why_ he had gone out and gotten completely wasted, Phil had merely slurred, "I didn't want to but I couldn't not", which pretty much summed up their new lives.

A few times per week, they would attempt to kill themselves. Or, more precisely, _their bodies_ would attempt to kill themselves; Dan and Phil did everything in their power to stop it. Thankfully, only one of them ever seemed to be "under the influence of weird" at a time. This meant that Dan could stand in the kitchen and scream that he was about to slit his wrists until Phil was able to rush in and wrestle the knife out of his hands. Then later, Dan could receive an all-caps text message and subsequently race into Phil's room just in time to cut a homemade noose off of his friend's neck before he asphyxiated. They were a team like that.

They couldn't really call these episodes "suicide attempts" because that implied they were a choice. In reality, it felt like attempted murder; the perpetrators just happened to cohabitate their bodies at times.

Dan was just coming out of another paralytic episode – in which he had decided that if one stared long enough at the carpet fibers, he could find the meaning of life –when his phone rang.

"Hello?" he answered wearily.

"Hey man, what's up?" the familiar voice responded. "I'm running a bit late, but did you want me to bring anything for tonight?"

"PJ?" Dan asked, lowering the phone to double-check the caller ID. "Oh, hey. Um, what's going on tonight?"

PJ laughed. "The party!"

"What party?"

"Your party. The one that's starting in like, half an hour."

"I'm having a party?"

PJ sounded confused. "You really don't know? Phil invited like half of the British YouTube community. Actually, I think it's trending on Twitter!"

"I'll call you back," Dan said, hastily hanging up.

"Phil!" he called, hurrying into his friend's room. "Are you having a party tonight?"

Phil frowned. "No, why would… oh wait," he said, suddenly growing pale. "Oh crap."

"What?"

He winced. "So, that night when I was drunk… I might have made some poor judgment calls."

Dan looked horrified. "You didn't."

Phil nodded grimly. "I think I may have invited a few people over tonight."

"How many is a few?"

"I'm sure it couldn't have been too many…"

"PJ said we're trending on Twitter!"

"Really? You know, now that you mention it, it might have been more than I thought."

"Phil!" Dan exclaimed. "Have you even seen our apartment? This whole place is a mess, we don't have room for a ton of people to mill about, and what are we going to offer them for food? Pom-Bears and Country Crisp? And how are we going to explain what's going on when one of us suddenly shoves a fork into an electrical socket or whatever? We can't have a party; we can barely keep ourselves alive!"

"I know!" Phil exclaimed. "But I didn't _decide_ to invite people over, it jus-"

"It just happened, "Dan finished for him. "I know, I know… but what are we going to do now?"

"Uh, tell them we're sick?" Phil suggested. "It's not even that much of a lie…"

Just then, the doorbell rang.

Dan groaned. "Oh sure, it has to be the _one_ time people actually show up early…"

"Quick!" Phil said. "Make some retching noises; I'll go tell them you're throwing up!"

"No, Phil," Dan sighed deeply. "If you promise half of YouTube a party, you give half of YouTube a party. We're going to take this like men… sort of. Now start cleaning; I have a plan."

While Phil began to madly tidy the house, Dan answered the door.

"Hey," Chris said, "sorry I'm early but-"

"Ice!" Dan exclaimed suddenly, smacking himself on the head. "I totally forgot the ice! This is horrible! If only I'd remembered to buy some ice!"

"Uh, did you want me to go get some?" Chris offered.

"Oh, would you mind?" Dan gushed. "That would be great! But you can't go to the closest store because their ice always looks a bit dodgy… if you go across town though, I think there's a Tesco's a few miles away that has good ice."

"Really, Dan?" Chris smirked. "You care about ice quality?"

"Absolutely. Ice is one of the most important parts of… uh, the water cycle. Now, off you go!" Dan shooed his friend away.

He shut the door behind him quickly and hurried back to help Phil with the cleaning. They hadn't gotten very far however, when the doorbell rang again. Dan raced back over to answer it.

"Oh, hey," he said, looking at Charlie, Carrie, Alex, and Bryarly, "you're coming in groups now. Fantastic."

"We carpooled," Alex explained. "Figured there might be a crowd. By the way, did you know you're trending on Twitter?"

"So I hear," Dan muttered. "Anyway, I'm so glad you're all here I… oh fuck!" he exclaimed. "I'm such an idiot! I completely forgot to buy ice! We can't possibly have a party without ice. What am I going to do?"

"Well, I can run out and get some," Charlie offered. "The rest of you can stay here."

"Actually," Dan said, thinking quickly, "it might be better if you all went together. That way you can help carry it back."

Charlie laughed. "Look, I know I'm not the fittest person in the world, but I can handle a bag of ice!"

"Right," Dan said, "but I need a lot of ice… uh, for a game."

"What game?" Bryarly asked.

"Um, ice cube… badminton. You'll see. It'll be great. But you should really go to the Whole Foods; their ice is organic or something and I hear that's supposed to be better for… badminton."

In this fashion, Dan managed to fend off the next five or so early arrivals, giving Phil enough time to cram seven months worth of clutter into closets and under beds. Before the first guests had returned with their frozen cargo, the two had managed to make the place look fairly presentable and even had some music playing.

"One problem," Dan said as they stood back to admire their work. "No food."

Hastily, the two attempted to make kabobs by skewering the Maltesers and Pom-Bears on pieces of Pocky, but it all turned into a crumbly mess.

"You could have sent some of those people to buy food," Phil commented. "Or drinks even. You know, something besides ice."

"Who taught you manners, Phil?" Dan tutted. "It's rude to send people out to buy stuff for your own party. Ice is the only exception; for whatever reason, people don't mind buying ice."

"Sorry, I guess I should have realized that offering people crumbled junk food was a better option than asking them to bring something," Phil replied sarcastically.

Dan held his hands up in surrender. "Hey, I don't make the social rules."

But the doorbell was ringing again.

* * *

**A/N: Hello Lovely Reader!**

**Thanks to everyone who's been supporting me through this time with my Grandma. Honestly, it's overwhelming to see how kind you all are, even though we've never technically met before :') She passed away last night, so it's really good for her to be out of pain now.**

**Now, to address a certain blood-relation of mine who has been... uh, ****_exploiting_**** the review section. *ahem* ...excuse me, *ahem* *Naomi* *ahem* excuse me:**

**By the power invested in me by... well, me, I hereby present you with this small token of my affection: **

***presents virtual fruit basket (devoid of all pears, because you like to pretend that you are 'The Doctor'), which initially appears slightly larger than the virtual fruit basket presented to KDaisyH (my main beta-reader), but upon closer inspection, is in fact exactly the same size but appears larger due to careful rearranging (to make up for the lack of pears)* **

**Thank you for your services to this story. You have been the only one not afraid to (bluntly) tell me when my writing is total crap, you've made me copious amounts of tea, and you've dug me out of plot-holes so deep that I was ready to abandon this whole fic. Thanks for sticking with me and being my little sister :)**

**As to the rest of you all... wow, you're still reading! Unless you skipped to the end... which is fine. To each his (or her) own ;)**

**Just for that, I have a complimentary Shakespearean insult for you to sling at me should you see fit: "Thou clay-brained guts, thou knotty-pated fool, thou whoreson, obscene, greasy tallowketch!" (****_King Henry IV_****)**

**Best wishes!**

**~Bethany **


	20. Save Our Ship

Once the guests had returned and the bags of ice were piled up in the kitchen, Dan and Phil were able to take in the sheer number of semi-famous people in their home. It was as if their subscription boxes had personified, and stood chatting in their – now very cramped – living room.

"Dan!" Carrie called, running over with a tray of food. "You have to try these homemade pizza rolls somebody brought; they're amazing!"

Dan had to physically wipe a bit of drool off the side of his mouth as he stared in longing at the food. "No thanks," he said willed himself to reply, knowing full well what the outcome would be.

"Oh come on! They're really good," she insisted, playfully waving the plate in front of his face.

"I'm allergic to pizza rolls," Dan lied, at the same time struggling to keep his hand from grabbing one.

"Really?" Carrie asked, her smile fading. "Sorry, I didn't know…"

But just then, the aroma won out and Dan's malnourished body attempted to right the wrongs done to it by the past seven months of unintentional and absurd crash dieting. His hand shot out and grabbed a pizza roll, trying to stick it into his mouth. As to be expected however, the food bounced off the invisible force field and fell to the floor.

"Did you just spit that out?" Carrie asked quizzically.

"No, that was just my… allergy. Sorry."

"I'M GAY AND IN LOVE WITH CHARLIE MCDONNELL!"

Dan and Carrie both abandoned their conversation to stare across the suddenly quiet room. Alex Day had one hand over his mouth and a horrified expression across his face.

They could see Charlie's face changing from white, to pink, to red as the guests reacted in different ways. Some shrugged and continued with their conversations, some whispered to each other, and one person actually started applauding.

"Oh fuck! I didn't… I… I don't know what… I'm… Nobody tweet that!" Alex sputtered.

Charlie quietly walked past Alex to the door. "We should talk," he mumbled. "Now."

"Charlie, I didn't mean it! I don't know why I said that! I didn't decide to say it; I wasn't even thinking about anything related to that!" Alex insisted, hurrying out after his confused and embarrassed friend.

Dan and Phil exchanged a guilty glance, unsure of the correct protocol for the situation.

Then suddenly, it didn't seem to matter.

"I love you, Jack Howard! Will you marry me?" Carrie blurted out.

Jack looked confused, but when he opened his mouth to respond, all that came out was, "But I'm gay and I love Dean!"

Dean called back, "I'm in love with Ciaran O' Brien!"

"But I'm only gay for Khyan!" Ciaran shouted.

"Phil!" Dan joined in for what felt like the millionth time, "I love you and I'm gay!"

"No!" Emma Blackery hollered back. "We're meant to be, Dan!"

Bertie Gilbert called out, "Bethan Mary Leadley! Will you marry me?"

"I can't you twat," she retorted, "I'm in love with BriBry!"

"Chris!" PJ exclaimed, dropping to one knee, "I love you more than I love rice, which is quite a lot. Be my husband?"

"Well, that's sweet, but everyone knows it's me and Phil forever," Chris replied.

"Tom Milsom, your electric blue hair has captivated me for years and my love for you will never wither away!" Ed Blann announced. "Be my hexaplant?"

"That's nice, Ed," Tom said, "but Benjamin Cook is my soul mate."

"Sorry, Tom," Ben said. "Hazel! We were always meant to be!"

"Ick no!" Hazel squealed. "I'm WOTO all the way. It's me and Brad! Or Liam: I'd settle for Liam."

"Well, that would be offensive if I wasn't so madly in love with Bryarly," Liam retorted.

"But everyone knows I love Charlie!" Bryarly protested. "Of course, not as much as I love Lindsey…"

"I love Becky!" Lindsey added.

"And I love you, Liam Dryden!" Kayley Hyde exclaimed.

"I've always liked Michael Aranda," Liam Dryden mused.

"Carrie!" Phil called, "it's you and me, girl!"

"Yes!" she exclaimed. "No wait, it's me and Alex. No, me and Dan! Or, is it me and Brad? No, it's me and Liam. Or, me and Sam? No, definitely me and Jack. And me and Dean. But, it could be me and Danny…. Unless it's me and Charlie! Or, me and Ciaran? No! Or is it me and that albino hedgehog? …But it also might be me and Tom. Or, me and the other Tom. Or, me and the other, other Tom. Or, me and the other, other, other Tom. Ooh! Or me and Tom from Australia… but I absolutely draw the line at me and my brother, Tom!"

Dan and Phil attempted in vain to settle the terrified YouTubers, but every time they opened their mouths they would end up inadvertently professing their love to someone else. After nearly an hour of shouting, proposing, rejecting, coming out, and general weirdness, the uproar had finally died down enough for the two homeowners to implement their hastily constructed plan.

Dan jumped up on top of the couch and whistled loudly for attention.

"Ladies and gentlemen of YouTube," he announced, "we have reason to believe that the insecticide sprayed in this building a few days ago is affecting certain neurotransmitters in your brains and making you all believe that you're in love. You're likely no more gay or straight than you were yesterday. We believe that this situation will correct itself once you remove yourselves from this obviously toxic environment. Now, if you all would please head for the exit in a calm and orderly fashion, Phil has a few waivers for you all to sign on your way out."

"That's right," Phil called, waving a stack of freshly printed forms in the air. "This is a simple release form indicating that anything said or done in this apartment tonight is officially off the record. No one will be sharing any videos, text messages, tweets, blog posts, status updates…etcetera, regarding this party. Should any of you break this contract, you can kiss all your future networking opportunities within the British YouTube community goodbye."

Looking relieved, the horde of YouTubers quickly signed the forms and filtered out of the house, leaving Dan and Phil with only Chris, PJ, and Alex's carpool.

"You guys best be on your way," Dan said to the stragglers. "Toxic fumes and all."

"Yeah, we're not going anywhere until you tell us what's really going on," Chris said seriously.

"Insecticide?" Phil offered.

"No," PJ said firmly. "You two have been acting weird for months. We need to know what's going on; we're supposed to be your friends."

With deep sighs, Dan and Phil launched into the entire tale of weirdness, from meeting Ophelia to that night's party. When they had finally finished, the little group sat in silent amazement.

"So you see why we couldn't tell anyone," Phil said. "They'd have thought we were mental for saying that sometimes we just aren't in control of our own selves anymore. I mean, actions, thoughts, words… you all probably think we're insane too."

"It does sound pretty mental," Alex admitted, "but after what we just witnessed… I mean, Phil, you proposed to a broom!"

Phil blushed. "It was a very nice broom," he mumbled. "I think our ship name is 'Phroom'. It's better than 'Bril', anyway…"

"Yeah and you're one to talk, Alex," Dan added in defense of his friend. "You made out with a guitar."

Charlie – who'd been relatively quiet since the Cherimon incident – mused, "You know, it almost sounds like fanfiction or something."

Bryarly laughed. "You read fanfiction? You don't read your own, do you?"

"No!" Charlie answered a bit too defensively. "Well, not often," he admitted. "It's hard, okay? Sometimes, I just wonder what people think of me. I'm only human."

"Wait, go back to what you were saying," Dan pressed.

"I just mean, some of the situations you were describing sound a lot like the stuff that's in their stories. I don't know, it's probably just a coincidence, but the party tonight was like a shipper's paradise."

"If it was about shipping," Carrie said, blushing slightly, "that would explain why some of us were… disproportionately affected."

"But those are just stories," Bryarly argued. "How could they possibly have any bearing on real life?"

"Personally, I'm for any theory that says I'm not schizophrenic," Dan stated.

"I second that," Phil chimed in.

"So, I'm not an expert on this," Charlie continued, "but I may know someone who can help you. She sort of describes herself as my number one _most reluctant_ fan…"

* * *

**A/N: Hello Lovely Reader!**

**I had to include the completely unrealistic YouTuber party - it's a phanfiction staple :)**

**Since we haven't done sample reviews in a while... Please copy-and-paste as appropriate! **

**"Not gonna lie, I really hate your sample reviews. They NEVER adequately express my thoughts, feelings, and/or opinions regarding this story or life in general"**

**"I enjoy your sample reviews. They ALWAYS express my thoughts, feelings, and/or opinions regarding this story or life in general"**

**"I am indifferent one way or the other regarding your sample reviews, but I would prefer it if you would stop talking about them and either write them or not write them. Good grief!"**

**"I should be doing homework right now. *shakes fist in air* Damn you, child!"**

**"I finished my homework already because I am smarter than you... :p"**

**"YOU SHOULD HAVE INCLUDED (*fill in the blank YouTuber*) AT YOUR PARTY!"**

**"You confuse and/or annoy me for reasons I do not care to share at this point"**

**"Take you me for a sponge?****_" ~_****(William Shakespeare, ****_Hamlet)_**

**Best wishes!**

**~Bethany **


	21. Coming Out of the Closet

Four days later, Dan and Phil stood huddled in the seldom-used coat closet in the basement of St. Edward's church, trying not to make a sound.

"Why can't we just go out there? This feels so wrong," Phil whispered.

"Charlie said we had to wait for her to be alone," Dan whispered back.

"You _do_ realize how wrong that sounds?"

"Quiet," Dan hushed him. Through the crack in the door, he could see eight or so teenage girls getting settled into a circle of folding chairs in the center of the room. A young woman with dark shoulder-length hair and an all-business attitude cleared her throat.

"Okay everyone, thank you for coming out tonight to YouTube Real Person Fanfiction Writers Anonymous," she began. "I can see that we have a new member, so why don't we start by going around the circle and introducing ourselves? I'll begin. My name is Jenny, I'm twenty-three years old, I am the main London YTRPFWA director, and I am an RPF addict. My former OTP was Chenny – Charlie McDonnell and myself – although I've dabbled in everything from PewdieCry to Larry Stylinson. I have written a total of 344, 019 words of RPF and have beta-read for sixty-six different fics. Come Tuesday, I'll have been clean for eighteen months."

The group clapped politely and Jenny turned to the girl on her left. "Sofia, would you like to go next?"

A very shy looking girl, with bangs covering half of her face, answered. "My name is Sofia. I'm sixteen years old, and I am an RPF addict. I wrote OC/Dan, OC/Phil, and KickTheStickz fics, and I think my word count was around 170,000. As of tonight, I've been clean for three weeks."

"Excellent, Sophia!" Jenny praised. "We're all so proud of you. Right everyone?"

The other members murmured their assent. One girl however, who couldn't have been more than thirteen, burst into tears.

"Madison, what's wrong?" Jenny asked comfortingly.

"I-I failed!" Madison choked out between sobs. "I had such a-a nice streak going a-and I ruined e-everything! S-Saturday, I t-tweeted them both! And I wrote another Ianthony fic, and I p-posted it on T-Tumblr and I g-got twenty-seven r-reblogs! I'm s-so sorry!" She buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

Jenny stood up and quickly walked around the circle to give the girl a hug.

"Oh, Madi, sweetie," Jenny consoled, "we all relapse sometimes. The important thing is that you're here and able to admit that. Abstinence is hard, believe me I know, but you have all of these friends here who would be willing to help you the next time you feel yourself slipping. Right everyone?"

The girls all nodded in agreement.

After giving her another reassuring squeeze, Jenny said, "So Madi, why don't you finish up? Remember, the past doesn't matter: we move forward."

Madison sniffed and looked back up at the group. "I'm Madison, I'm an RPF addict, and I've been clean for…" she checked her phone, "…six and a half hours."

The group clapped politely again as Jenny continued to lead the discussion around the circle. They shared testimonies, talked about their struggles, temptations, loneliness, and how no one in their lives really understood the burden of living with an RPF addiction. Dan and Phil watched it all in silent amazement through their little gap in the door.

After about an hour, Jenny wrapped things up. "Alright everyone," she said. "Please remember to bring a symbol from your former-fandom or former-OTP to burn at the upcoming bonfire event next week. Now will everyone please join me in the YouTube Real Person Fanfiction Writer's Anonymous motto?"

The group glumly recited: "We are embracing change, pressing forward, and leaving unrealistic expectations behind us."

Jenny beamed. "Ladies, I hope to see everyone back next week. You are all dismissed."

Dan and Phil waited twenty more minutes as the group members chatted amongst themselves and slowly cleared out of the basement. Finally, there was only Jenny left, stacking chairs.

"Okay, I guess this is it," Phil whispered.

"Try not to make her pass out," Dan quietly replied.

Dan stepped out of the closet and cleared his throat. "Hey… Jenny Alborn, right?"

Jenny turned around quickly and gaped at him. "Aahh!" she shrieked. "How did you-" Jenny began as Phil followed him out. "You! No! I will not… I… You can't… Just… No! You guys can't be here!"

"I'm Dan and this is-"

She cut him off, "I know who you are! Good Lord, do I know who you are! That's exactly why you can't be here. Both of you! I'm in recovery!"

"Look, we're really sorry about this," Dan explained hastily, "but we need an expert, and Charlie McDonnell said that you're our best bet."

"But you don't understand what this means," she protested. "I've been clean for _so_ long! I haven't written any fics, I deleted my Tumblr, Wattpad, deviantART, and fanfiction accounts, and I've even unsubscribed from your second channels. By Christmas, my goal is to have unsubscribed from your main channels as well! I was doing _so _good! Now you just want to come and ruin everything? No! My life is finally back on track! I will NOT have you two derail it again!_"_

As she said this, Dan and Phil noticed that she was trembling violently.

"Are you okay?" Phil asked.

"NO, I'M NOT OKAY!" she exclaimed. "I am equal parts loathing and fangirling right now; bodies are not designed for this much emotion all at once!"

"Again," Dan said, "really sorry. But we need help, and you're the only real person fanfiction expert anyone seems to know. Would you please just talk to us?"

"But-" she started.

"Look, we understand why you're hesitant," Phil cut in, "but we promise, the _moment_ we're done talking, we'll leave you alone forever – I mean, if that's what you want. Would you please, please just answer a few questions for us?"

Jenny stared at the floor for a long time, contemplating. It seemed as though some epic moral battle was raging within her, and Dan and Phil glanced nervously at each other.

Finally, she looked back up at them and sighed deeply. "One of the pillars of YTRPFWA is that we're all just people. That just because someone has achieved semi-famousness does not make that person any more wonderful, or important, or life-altering than any other person."

The two guys nodded vigorously.

She sighed again. "I mean, I realize that what happened was not your fault; you guys don't have that kind of power. So, now…" she took another deep breath, "I'm choosing to forgive you."

"Uh, thanks," the two awkwardly replied.

"And, you can tell Charlie that I don't blame him either. And I'm really sorry for stalking him that summer."

Phil smiled a bit. "He told us to tell you that you're completely forgiven –although the restraining order still stands – and he's really glad that you're in recovery now."

"Yeah," Jenny sighed, "that's pretty much what Jack and Finn said too…" She grinned mischievously, "But boy, was that ever a summer!"

* * *

**A/N: Hello Lovely Reader!**

**The plot thickens! ;)**

**So, I would like to take this time to express my sincerest gratitude to all you lovely readers who have reviewed thus far. ****You have no idea how much joy you bring to my little heart when I get that email notification. Like, you seriously have no idea. If you did, you would stop reviewing because you would fear for my mental health. **

**Okay *deep breath* here we go.**

**livvylovesyou, ThatEnglishRoseisnotonfire, lifelane, Guest (we will forever wonder about your identity), Rose Marion BAD WOLF, DovahFinn, Ljubica Lukic, Dophelecat, TheSunIsOnFire, kickingpj, usernamez, SherlocktorWho, ScrewThatInternetHomo, aleprbla, CrazyxChaotic, mariana92l, LilyisAAFT, That70'sGirl12, btea, Delighted Reader, HazLovesBoo, FujiFire, fatedfortunes, NotYourStereotypicalBlondGirl, Sibuna Kitten, sasuko365, Guest (who may or may not be the aforementioned Guest), DollyDaydream8, EggyDanosaur, KateTheCrazy, ThatPotterheadTimelord, beebee73, SS Shipmypants, wormtail-was-a-whovian, Els4848, Kandi-Neko, StarFox-chan, Epiculous, JBo, Ziazan, Midnight4568, TheAdelaide9, Alex loggedout (who I assume is the same person as Alex AKA ScrewThatInternetHomo, but I'd rather be safe than sorry), MadTheLion, Sasaphrinascream, Random, Lillian, and FlyinginTheTardis.**

******(You guys have... _interesting_ usernames)**

**Please check if I misspelled your name (or, heaven forbid, MISSED your name). If I did, please reprimand me harshly.**

**If you've not yet posted a review, I do not hold it against you... Unless you would like me to. But that would be weird, wouldn't it? Do I sound needy? I probably sound needy. Sorry guys; long day. Funerals suck. Which is an excuse... sorry again. **

**"Excuses are like armpits; everybody's got 'em and they always stink" ~ my former youth pastor. **

**Side note (completely unrelated to the story; feel free to skip if you have better things to do) (I have better things to do. Maybe I should skip writing it...) (No, I'll write it. Otherwise they'd wonder what it would say) (Who am I kidding? No one's still reading this crap!) (Bethany, did you just put five parenthetical statements in a row?) (Oh crap, you're talking to yourself again... and now it's six!)  
**

**So, today was the funeral day. My grandma was Catholic, so we had a catholic mass. Now, I am not Catholic, nor was I raised in a catholic church (let's hear it for the non-denominational, hyper-conservative, formerly homeschooled, three-steps-to-the-left-of-Amish, phanfiction writers! ...Anyone? Just me? *crickets* Okay, that's cool.) **

**ANYWAY, so, catholic mass. **_**Apparently, **_**when people say "peace be with you", the appropriate response is "and also with you". It is NOT (as I so wrongly believed) "thank you". Needless to say, I got a lot of weird looks from fellow mourners when I did not correctly reciprocate their "peace". I guess I kept all the "peace" to myself, which is frowned upon in Catholicism. Who knew? :p**

_**TL;DR**_:** (I know, right? Ain't nobody got time for that!) Thank you for reading the story, you lovely person you.**

**Now, a word from Shakespeare: "Dissembling harlot, thou art false in all!" (_Comedy of Errors_)**

**Best wishes!**

**~Bethany**

**P.S. I didn't know if "Catholic" was supposed to be capitalized or not (see how non-catholic I am?) so I mixed it up so as to only be wrong half of the time. I use the same strategy on tests. ****If you are catholic (or Catholic) and offended... sorry. **

**I'll go now. I'm not high, I swear. Just probably needed to go to bed a few hours ago... **

**Did I mention I hate funerals? I counted, and this is (minimum) the 12th funeral I've ever been to... I should get a pin or something. Ooh! Or a Lifescouts badge. You know, the dozen funerals badge? We should ask Alex for that one... although it may encourage sketchy behavior... Oh dear. **

**I'll go to bed now: really. I'm sorry. I'm losing it guys... I think I turned into one of my OCs... I'm not always like this... I promise.**


	22. Professional Help

Since the church choir rehearsed at seven, Jenny suggested that they head across the street to Starbucks for their chat. After Dan had slopped his hot, sticky coffee all over Oyintsa Chandler – a fourteen-year-old American girl who just so happened to be visiting London that week on vacation and who then proceeded to faint into Phil's waiting arms – they settled into a booth in the back of the café.

"So," Jenny began, "you say your life has turned into a fanfic."

Dan winced. "Look, I know it sounds crazy, but-"

"It certainly wouldn't be the first time," Jenny cut in.

"Wait," Phil gaped at her, "you're saying this has happened to someone before?"

"It's the internet, Phil; everything has happened before."

"But… when?!"

"The most famous case was Michael Jackson… It didn't end well."

Dan looked skeptical. "Michael Jackson was living a fanfiction?"

"Why did you think all that weird stuff happened to him?" Jenny asked condescendingly. "I mean, the man changed his skin color!"

"I guess I just thought he was a weird guy."

"Well, a bit of that too. It's a long story," Jenny shrugged.

"So, you're saying that by writing RPF, people can control other people's lives?" Phil questioned.

"More or less," she affirmed.

"But, fans have been writing about me and Dan for years and this only started seven months ago," he countered.

"It requires a very special set of circumstances," Jenny explained. "The first is that the fic has to be un-disclaimed."

Phil looked confused. "Un-disclaimed?"

Jenny sighed. "Okay, so if you've ever read a Harry Potter fic for instance, you'll usually see a little disclaimer across the top in which the author states that he or she does not own any of the elements of the book: characters, setting, plot… whatever. The disclaimer verifies that all that stuff still belongs to J.K. Rowling. It's for legal purposes; you know, copyright infringement."

"Right," Phil nodded, "but I'm not an orphaned wizard."

"Well, that's just it," she went on. "In RPF, things get a bit messy. Do authors really need to disclaim? I mean, it's pretty obvious that they don't own the canon characters, so some authors think disclaiming is unnecessary. In reality, those disclaimers are important for distinguishing between canon and non-canon life events."

A bit exasperated, Phil asked, "Which, in English, means…?"

Jenny winced. "Uh… the author inadvertently copyrighted both of your lives."

"Whoa! Whoa! Back the truck up!" Dan exclaimed. "It's _my_ life! How the bloody hell can someone copyright _my own life_?!"

"By not disclaiming their fics," Jenny said slowly. "Stay with me, Dan."

"So, _anyone_ who writes un-disclaimed fics can do this to people?" Phil asked.

"Well, no," Jenny admitted. "This is a fairly limited field of study, so we're not entirely sure how it happens. See, writers forget to disclaim their fics all the time, but this situation is still unusual. The current theory is that whilst un-disclaimed fics open the door for the situation to occur, there's still some other force at work which activates it."

"Like what?" Phil asked.

"Like I said," she repeated, "it's a limited field of study. We do know that the rate of instances increases following most major holidays, but we have yet to determine exactly why. It doesn't really matter _how_ this happened though; the important thing is that it _did_ happen."

"So, what do we do now?" Dan asked.

"We need to figure out who your writer is," Jenny said. "I'm going to need every odd detail you two can recall about the past seven months."

Dan nodded. "Okay, first of all," he said, indicating the spot where Oyintsa had fainted fifteen minutes before, "there's that. Every _single time_ I've been to Starbucks in the past seven months, I've spilt my drink on some random American girl with a weird name."

"Oh, that's classic," Jenny nodded. "The OC/Starbucks slop fic."

"The what?" Phil asked.

"OC stands for 'original character'. It's the term we use for when the author makes up additional characters outside of canon. Usually, they're self-inserts, meaning that the author really wishes that she was that character, but feels slightly too embarrassed to use her actual name. So instead, she makes the OC essentially the same as herself: hair color, eye color, nationality, personality… whatever."

"But what about Starbucks?" Phil asked.

Jenny laughed. "That's one of the quirks of YouTube RPF. It also shows that this writer is likely not British, because then you would be meeting your OCs on public transportation. See, there are only a few different ways for writers to introduce their OCs to canon characters, or CCs. By the way," she said, pointing to Dan and Phil, "you guys are the CCs."

Dan rolled his eyes. "I feel so special."

"You should. Anyway, when non-UK authors need to write the initial meeting, there are three main strategies that they use to make it seem realistic. One is to have the characters meet at a gathering – usually VidCon – which is just blatant wish fulfillment. Then, there's the good old 'OC is the cousin of the CC's best friend' method. That one's usually pretty good, but it gets complicated and generally involves love triangles. The most popular however, has to be the 'CC slops his coffee on the OC and feels bad about it' method. Personally, I think it's the most popular because Starbucks is so universal that everyone can relate to it."

Jenny paused to take a sip of coffee. "So, now we've determined that your writer is not British – likely American based on the OCs – and a straight shipper because she pairs you guys with female OCs rather than each other. That narrows it down a bit."

"Actually," Phil said hesitantly, "I think she pairs us with each other more than with girls. We, uh, were 'coming out' a few times a day."

Jenny frowned. "She's into slash too? Okay, now that is odd. Usually, they're one or the other… interesting. That actually might make this easier. Keep going; what else happens?"

"Okay," Phil said, "we can only eat eight kinds of food: Country Crisp cereal, Maltesers, Pocky, yogurt, stir-fry, Pom-Bears, ShakeAway, and Starbucks."

"And alcohol," Dan added, "so, really nine."

Jenny nodded. "Well, that's to be expected. Those are your canon foods, so that's why your author chose to include them in her fics. To be honest, I'm surprised you got that much variety; I mean, Elvis was down to peanut butter, banana, and bacon sandwiches, poor guy. She must really like writing about food."

Phil began, "So, now you're telling me Elvis was-"

"Yes," Jenny interrupted.

"And, what do you mean by 'canon foods'?" Dan demanded, focusing on the important part. "Shouldn't anything we've ever eaten be canon?"

"No," Jenny shook her head, "something is only canon if you've done it in a video; no one cares about the rest of your life."

"But," Phil said, "I don't think I've ever drunk alcohol in a video."

"That's irrelevant. You can consume whatever the author says that you can consume; she's just more likely to pick canon foods for the sake of realism. Alcohol is more of a plot device anyway… I'm guessing it made some weird shit happen?"

"Uh, something like that," Phil admitted.

"Again," Jenny stated as she dug through her purse, "classic. Keep going; I'm going to need more specifics than this." She retrieved a pen, smoothed out one of the Starbucks napkins, and began scrolling through her phone, occasionally jotting down notes.

Over the next few hours, Dan and Phil spilled out every detail they could think of about the past seven months, from their heroic rescues to their suicide attempts. As they talked, Jenny scribbled furiously, filling one napkin after another with indecipherable markings. Sometimes, they would give a new detail, and Jenny would cross out entire columns or tear up a napkin completely, getting more and more excited as they went on.

Whenever they ran out of things to say, Jenny would ask them seemingly unrelated questions.

"In the past seven months," she began, "has it been impossible for either of you to end a sentence with a preposition?"

Dan frowned. "What does that have anything to do with?"

"Yeah," Phil chimed in, "what are you getting at?"

"I'll take that as a no then," she mumbled, crossing out something. "Have you ever found yourselves suddenly reciting poetry in foreign languages: especially French and Swahili?"

"I'll go with 'no'," Phil cautiously replied.

"Alright, and when's the last time either of you've been sunburned?"

"If this is about that skin fic…" Dan began.

"Did you want my help, or not?" she retorted.

"Okay, okay! Sorry," he surrendered.

"Whatever," she waved him off. "Now, have either of you recently purchased any antique furniture: specifically chairs?"

"Okay," Phil insisted, "I think you have enough now!"

Jenny rolled her eyes. "Honestly! You were the ones begging me to do this..."

At last, after hours of interrogation, Jenny drew a big circle around one of the marks and held the napkin over her head triumphantly.

"I've got it!" she exclaimed.

"What?" Dan and Phil both asked urgently.

Jenny grinned. "Your author is Melanie Grace Russo: a fifteen-year-old American girl who has uploaded no less than eighty-three RPF stories in the past two years. She's a bit of a legend in the community. Her username is melazingfirekickstickzneribedtimehexaplantbrycooll ikerad-gemonkeyssayhoottosnakesOMFGDFTBA_13… But we call her 'Mel' for short."

Dan's eyes widened. "What, does she want us all to have an orgy or something?!"

"B-But how did she get that name?" Phil sputtered. "That's _way_ too many characters!"

Dan stared at his friend in disbelief. "We've just found out that our lives are under the control of a fifteen-year-old _nutcase_, and you're worried about the _length of her username_?"

"Hey!" Jenny interjected. "She's not a nutcase! RPF addiction is a serious problem; do not insult her."

Suddenly, Dan's self-control seemed to snap and he threw himself down onto the floor. Phil and Jenny jumped up from the table in surprise.

"But how did this even happen?!" Dan blurted out, beating the ground like a two-year-old in a tantrum. "I don't understand anything that's going on! I hate this! I hate you all!"

Instantly, every eye in the shop turned to stare at the flailing man.

"Dan? Dan!" Phil tried, shaking his friend's shoulders. "Please don't do this here. Please get up! We're in public, Dan! It's going to be okay, man; just get it together!"

When that failed to get Dan off the floor however, Jenny knelt down next to him. "Dan!" she said sharply. "This is not you. You're acting completely OOC right now."

"What's that mean?" Phil asked.

"Out of character," Jenny replied. "Dan would never act this way in canon."

"This _is_ canon!" Dan sobbed angrily, still pounding on the floor. "This is my life! I'm not a character! I'm just me!"

Phil and Jenny spent several minutes attempting to calm Dan down until the disapproving glares and "tutting" from fellow patrons became too much for them to handle. With Phil grabbing Dan's legs and Jenny grabbing his arms, they managed to carry the struggling boy out of the café and onto the sidewalk.

"Phil, you're going to have to kiss him," Jenny said matter-of-factly. "Passionately."

"What?!" Phil exclaimed. "Why?"

"Kissing is always the fastest was to end an angst fic. Just trust me."

"Ew! You do it."

"I can't," Jenny said, a bit sadly. "First of all I'm in recovery. Second, I'm not an OC or a CC in this fic, so it wouldn't work. You have to do it."

Phil stared at his hysterical flatmate, who was still flopping around on the ground while alternating between screaming curse words and death threats. "But, he's my friend! It's just _wrong!_"

"Phil," Jenny said, exasperated, "think of it as mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Lord knows you've done enough of that. Now, suck it up and be a man!"

Phil looked from Dan, to Jenny, and then back to Dan. "Oh, fine!" he relinquished.

The two rolled Dan onto his back and Jenny attempted to pin his thrashing arms down.

"Now!" she yelped.

In an instant, Phil straddled Dan, bent down, shut his eyes tightly, and locked lips. After about five seconds, the tantrum ceased and Dan's limbs and went limp.

Phil shook his head as he watched his friend slowly come back to reality. "The things I do for you…" he muttered under his breath.

* * *

**A/N: Hello Lovely Reader!**

**First, I have a little haiku to share with you. I call it "Dry Socks": *ahem***

**Dry socks. Fluffy, warm**

**Relatively clean, dry socks**

**Sadly, they are not**

**If you're wondering as to the origin of said haiku, allow me to explain…**

**Once upon a time, in a land possibly far, far away, or possibly quite close (depending on your relative location of course), there lived an eighteen-year-old phanfiction parody writer (no relation) who was a princess in her spare time (and by princess, I mean she'd recently quit her job in fast-food to work as an elder-care aide). **

**One beautiful spring day (and by beautiful, I mean cold as hell – if hell were cold and raining buckets), the writer awoke to the sounds of little birdies chirping outside her castle's window (and by little birdies, I mean her mother hollering, "DID YOU SLEEP THROUGH YOUR ALARM AGAIN?! YOU'RE GONNA BE LATE!") and glided gracefully downstairs (and by glided gracefully, I mean staggered like Great-uncle Horace after his fifth beer), to prepare to depart for her distinguished university (read: crappy community college). She boarded her fanciful carriage (Mom's old minivan) and sped off, singing gaily, without a care in the world (muttering irritably and suddenly remembering homework that should have been completed the night before).**

**Upon arriving, a handsome doorman informed her that she did not need to attend her classes that day, as she had been granted an honorary degree (she read a sign on the classroom door saying that her school was temporarily closed due to the torrential downpours and flash floods). The handsome doorman politely explained that every effort had been taken to contact the lovely writer/princess before she set out on her joyous journey, but that her glorious singing had been just a bit too loud for her to hear the multiple attempts (the sign on the door informed her that every effort had been taken to contact her, despite the fact that she had received NOT ONE text message, call, or email from the school prior to her driving forty minutes to get there).**

**Thanking him kindly (trying to see how many languages she could swear in), she skipped back to her carriage and was on her way once more (she forgot where she'd parked, and trekked up and down the lot for twenty minutes, getting soaked to the bone). Upon arriving at her tranquil abode, she learned of a slight dilemma involving the moat (her mom told her that the basement was flooding), but that she need not worry herself because the peasants were taking care of everything ("Grab a squeegee, Hon, and try to push it towards the drain. I'm going out to get some sandbags.").**

**And so, after the writer/princess had a long and luxurious day relaxing and enjoying herself in the beautiful weather, (after assisting her family in clearing out the basement and hauling in sandbags) she retired to her quarters (she took the 10 pm- 3 am squeegee shift so that her brother could sleep). Thus, she slept peacefully underneath her excessively fluffy and down-filled duvet for at least ten hours (Thus, she stayed up until three a.m. and wrote this story between squeegee breaks knowing that she would have to get up again at seven a.m. for school).**

**And they all lived happily ever after! (And she was slightly miserable, so she told herself, "I shall write a haiku, and I will feel better". So she did. But see, her socks were wet…)**

**The end.**

**And of course: "I do desire we may be better strangers" (Shakespeare, William. _As You Like It_).**

**Best wishes!**

**~Bethany**


	23. The Holy Scriptures

Once they all had recovered from Dan's little episode, they walked aimlessly down the artificially illuminated London streets, the guys not quite willing to bring an RPF addict home with them yet.

"So, before," Phil began, "what exactly did you mean by 'angst fic'?"

"Angst is a genre of fanfiction," Jenny explained. "Besides romance, it's one of the most popular. Dan was clearly under the influence of an angst fic back there, right Dan?"

Dan shrugged. "I guess."

It had gotten to the point where he honestly couldn't tell which emotions were his own and which emotions Mel was thrusting upon him.

"What other genres are there?" Phil asked.

"Let's see," Jenny said, using her fingers to count them off. "Romance, hurt/comfort, fluff, comedy, adventure, whump, drama, friendship, smut, fantasy, sci-fi, poetry…"

"Phil," Dan chuckled, "thank god she's not into poetry! That would really be awful; imagine," he gestured theatrically, "your life… as a metaphor!"

Phil laughed, "Yeah…"

"Either that or everything would have to rhyme," Jenny added solemnly. "Poor Dr. Seuss… Although I have to say, he really took it in stride."

Dan and Phil just stared at her.

"Anyway," she continued, "Mel has evolved a lot as an author over the years. She used to just write romance and fluff, but lately she's been dabbling with some darker themes."

"Yeah, tell me about it," Dan muttered, rubbing his forearms which still bore the superficial marks of his body's latest attempt to off himself. A few days ago, Phil had spent nearly ten minutes trying to wrestle a knife out of Dan's hands while they both screamed in terror.

"Honestly, I'm proud of her," Jenny went on. "She's finally growing up: portraying some real emotion in her writing."

Phil raised his eyebrows a little in surprise. "Proud of her?"

"I mean, the girl is clearly an addict," Jenny quickly clarified, "and I've been trying to get her into a local recovery program for months, but still, it's still nice to see an aspiring author honing her skills. I actually used to beta-read for her."

"You two are pretty close, huh?" Phil asked.

Jenny nodded. "We used to text all the time. It was like long-distance counseling."

"You have her number?!" Dan exclaimed, eyes widening. "Then call her! Make her stop writing fics about us!"

"It's not that simple," Jenny explained. "Mel's last message to me, which was months ago, said that she was indefinitely grounded from all electronics devices. No phone, no internet…"

Phil looked confused. "Then, how do you know what she's been writing? Surely you need an internet connection to publish fanfics."

"Phil, this is an addict we're talking about," Jenny said patronizingly. "Addicts know how to get a fix. She writes her stories in spiral notebooks, types them up during study hall, and publishes them during computer class. Unfortunately, her school blocks all the social networking sites, as well as the site's personal messaging features – and she's not exactly swimming in IRL friends – so it's been pretty much impossible to get messages to her."

"Why is she grounded anyway?" Dan asked.

"She got in trouble with her mom for quoting the_ Book of Daniel _at church, poor kid."

"The what?" Dan asked.

"The_ Book of Daniel_," Jenny repeated, looking incredulous. "Don't tell me you don't know about the_ Book of Daniel_. It's _your_ book."

"But I never wrote a book!" he protested.

"Well, no, not directly," Jenny consented. "We wrote it for you. More transcribed it, really."

"Oh god no," Dan groaned, covering his face with his hands.

Jenny smirked. "You always said you were an internet cult leader. Some members of the fandom thought it was only fair that you should have your own holy book. So, a group of girls – and surprisingly one guy – took it upon themselves to painstakingly transcribe and publish your entire YouTube channel into an ever-expanding PDF."

"But," Phil sputtered, "why?"

Jenny shook her head slowly. "You really don't get it, do you?" she asked seriously. "You guys have a hell of a lot of power. Maybe not in the world overall, but definitely in the lives of your viewers. They look up to you. You might as well be their gods. They'll do whatever you ask them to do, change aspects of themselves to better align what you like, alter their belief systems to match yours, memorize your every word…" She sighed, "I mean, I've met some fans in YTRPFWA who based their entire lives after whatever you say in your videos."

Dan was having a hard time deciding whether to laugh, cry, or vomit. "But, they're just videos!" he insisted. "They're just stupid sketches and vlogs that we make to amuse people; it's not like I'm trying to sell everyone on my philosophy. Hell, it's not even my _own_ philosophy. It's sarcasm! Humor! You're telling me that there are people out there who base their lives on a collection of sarcastic remarks made by a twenty-two year old guy they've probably never met before?"

Jenny shrugged. "In a word: yes."

* * *

**A/N: Hello Lovely Reader!**

**In the reviews, I've had three different people tell me that they read this fic during class (two during art, one during photography). Now, I know I should scold you all for reading fanfiction during class (knowledge is power and all that crap)... but then again, I was reading fanfics during my Grandma's wake, so I'm not really one to talk... **

**What was that? You're appalled? Everyone mourns differently! (I also used the time to teach my seven-year-old neighbor how to play Angry Birds on my phone because, you know, life skills).**

**_Anyway_****, I believe this phenomenon deserves further study. Does everyone read fanfiction in class? During which classes do you read it? What's the ****_most inappropriate_**** place in which you've read fanfiction? And just for fun, if you write fanfiction on this site, which story of yours are you most proud of? (I'll go read/review it, if I haven't already :) )**

**Feel free to leave your responses via reviews (preferred method), personal message, Morse code, smoke signal, carrier pigeon, interpretive dance, and/or shouting really loud. **

**I also speak Spanish (poorly) and American Sign Language (decently) in case you've grown weary of English and desire to communicate in a different language. If you wish to give it a go in German, I have sadly forgotten almost everything I used to know, except "Ich habe einen Witz" ("I have a joke") and "Wassermelone" ("watermelon"). However, if you want to leave a joke about watermelons... :) **

**So, quick question: Would you guys be interested in reading some "deleted scenes" from my story? Basically, if I were to post a second story which contained all of the stuff I had to cut from this story (for the sake of plot or whatever) would anyone read it? It would probably be like a series of crack-fic one-shots because it would have no context whatsoever... :D**

**Now, a complementary review, courtesy of our long-dead but still terribly amusing playwright: "The tartness of (thine) face sours ripe grapes!" (Shakespeare, William. ****_Coriolanus_****)**

**Best wishes!**

**~Bethany**

**P.S. Shout-out to the lovely DovahFinn, for her ****_stunningly_**** beautiful parody of the author's note of my parody of phanfiction (see review section). 'Twas epic. Other shout-out to Dolphelecat, because I misspelled her name and feel quite bad about it. Please, everyone, reprimand me harshly. Then, kindly go offer Dolphelecat your condolences and make snide remarks about me using Shakespearean insults. It's the only way to right this travesty. Your cooperation in this matter is greatly appreciated.**


	24. So, We're Screwed

Following this realization, Phil immediately ran into the street, lay down, and began screaming, "What's the point of anything anymore?!" He was nearly hit by a bus, but Dan managed to drag him back just in time.

"Another question," Dan panted as he struggled to pin his still suicidal friend to the sidewalk so that he couldn't repeat the stunt, "why does this only ever happen to one of us at a time? How come someone's always sane?"

"Think about it," Jenny said, bending down to help. She grabbed one of Phil's thrashing legs in each hand and attempted to hold them down. "It's all about POV."

"I can't do this anymore!" Phil sobbed. "I love you Dan! If you won't acknowledge that, then I don't want to keep living! Let me die!"

"Phil!" Dan yelled. "Snap out of it!" He turned back to Jenny. "POV?"

"Point of view," she panted back. "Authors can only write from one POV at a time. Mel actually prefers to write from her OC's POV, which is why you are not under her influence as much when you're part of an OC fic. But, she also likes to make a lot of unnecessary POV shifts, so she'll start with your perspective, switch to Phil's, do some OC…"

She looked back at Phil, whose protests were finally dying down. Gradually, his look changed from one of agony to embarrassment.

"Sorry," Phil mumbled, realizing what had just happened.

Jenny released her grip on his legs. "Not your fault," she said.

"How can Mel think this is okay?" Dan asked bitterly. He stood up and offered Phil a hand. "I mean, forcing us to have emotional breakdowns? Trying to kill us off? What kind of sadistic fifteen-year-old-"

"She's not trying to kill you," Jenny interrupted, "it's just another angst fic."

"But when did we ever agree to this?!" he demanded.

"Really, Dan?" Jenny scoffed. "You explicitly gave us permission."

"Nope, I'm pretty sure I'd remember giving up control of my own life!"

"But you did" Jenny corrected. She cleared her throat. "Daniel 48:52a, 'But for the record, okay, I don't mind fanfiction involving me. As we all know, I am a strong purveyor of general creepiness on the internet, so if anything, I'll just find it funny'."

Dan groaned. "But I didn't mean-"

"Daniel 48:52a is the official RPF writer's creed," Jenny went on. "Actually, before I got clean, I had it cross-stitched on some throw pillows."

"Just curious," Dan began, annoyed, "what's 48:52b?"

"'…As long as you don't offend me'," Jenny mumbled. "So fine, maybe it's been taken _slightly_ out of context, but you still definitely said it."

"Wait, how did Dan get chapters and verses?" Phil asked, still a bit out of it.

"Oh, I was actually the one who came up with the numeration system," Jenny grinned. "I'm quite proud of it. The chapter refers to the video number; the verse indicates which jump cut. Technically, we should say, _Book of Daniel: Volume I_ to differentiate it from his other books."

Dan threw his hands up in the air sarcastically. "Because, naturally, there's more than _one_ book."

"_Book of Daniel:_ _Volume I_ is your main channel," Jenny stated matter-of-factly. "That's the most popular book of course. Then _Volume II_ is for danisnotinteresting, but that's pretty short, so appendix_ a_ contains live streams, appendix _b_ is VYou responses, and appendix _c_ is for all other forms of video communication including collabs. _Volume III_ is your radio show and any other auditory communication, and _Volume IV_ is for all your public textual communication including – but not limited to – Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, and Formspring."

"Oh, god," was all Dan could manage to articulate.

"And, don't think we left you out," Jenny said, turning towards Phil. "Another girl – Nicole – was heading up the _Book of Philip_ project." She added gravely, "Before the incident anyway…"

"I'm going to regret this," Phil began cautiously, "but what incident?"

Jenny shifted uncomfortably. "Uh, let's just say it involved not nearly enough sleep, a poorly timed trip to the zoo, a nervous breakdown, and… a lion."

Phil covered his mouth with a hand. "No!" he gasped.

"Don't worry," Jenny added quickly, "she lived. One of the zoo staff members managed to get her out of the enclosure before Simba did too much damage. Last I heard, Nicole was enrolled in the only Australian branch of YTRPFWA and has been making real progress."

They walked in silence for a few minutes, trying to take it all in.

Finally, Dan spoke. "So, just to clarify, Mel has gained access to our lives partly through choosing not to disclaim her fics and partly through some other unknown magical factor."

"Correct," Jenny affirmed.

"And Mel is addicted to writing these stories, so she's unlikely to stop anytime soon," he went on.

"Right," she nodded.

"And Mel is unable to receive any form of communication that we could practically send her, begging her to stop."

"Yes."

"So, we're screwed," Dan concluded.

"Sorry," Jenny said sympathetically. Then she perked up. "But the good news is that Mel has never been into the _really_ dark fics, so the chance of either of you actually getting killed is minimal, provided that you keep playing along."

Just then, Jenny's phone beeped and she pulled it out of her pocket. Dan and Phil watched her face turn pale as she read the message.

"What happened?" Phil asked urgently.

Jenny was actually shaking as she held up her phone for the two YouTubers to read. It showed a single tweet from melazingfirekickstickzneribedtimehexaplantbrycooll ike-radgemonkeyssayhoottosnakesOMFGDFTBA_13:

im not dead! lol #grounded :p cant wait 4

#VidCon! sooo excited bout my new fic tho,

gonna b awesome! #WIP #phan #tragedy

Jenny gulped, "Houston, we have a problem."

* * *

**A/N: Hello Lovely Reader!**

**So, the results from the last poll were pretty much straight down the middle: out of eight reviewers mentioning reading in class, four do and four do not. I guess some of you care about grades and stuff! :)**

**Shout outs! **

**- To FujiFire: for the most SHAMELESS reading of fanfiction in class... (I'm currently looking into getting you enrolled in a YTRPFWA, just hang in there, kid) ;)**

**- To livvylovesyou: for ****_completely ignoring_**** where I listed the languages that I am capable of speaking, and writing me a review in French... Google Translate got a workout today... ;)**

**- To ThatPotterheadTimelord: for attempting to speak Spanish... (it's the thought that counts...) (...actually, no it's not. It's the words that count) (just kidding; love you!) ;)**

**- To Kandi-Neko: for your German watermelon joke... hehe... that one came out so nicely when I Google-Translated it, that I wonder if perhaps you ****_also_**** Google-Translated it... ;)**

**TODAY'S REVIEW QUESTIONS: what's your favorite emoticon? What's your least favorite emoticon? Which one are you just waiting for the right opportunity to use? (For me, that one is O_o ...I have no idea what it's supposed to mean, but it's really cool and I ****_can't wait_**** to use it for something) :)**

**Also, enough of you wanted the "deleted scene" thing to make it a reality. I should be posting that soon (probably after finals), so... cool.**

**Hmm... what else to say? I feel like I had something that I wanted to tell you all... nope, it seems to be gone now...**

**Oh yeah! You are all LOVELY, LOVELY PEOPLE! Thank you so much for caring about my little story enough to read and review it. Or read it, but not review it... or review it, but not read it... or not review it, and not read it... don't mean to leave anyone out! :) **

**No, but honestly, you guys are awesome. Thanks for joining me on this utterly ridiculous journey through the darkest crevices of my mind... you are brave souls... **

**I'm told there will be a virtual potluck at the end! Please bring a dish to pass:**

**If your last name falls between:**

**A-G: please bring a salad or side dish**  
**H-M: rolls or appetizers**  
**N-S: beverages**  
**T-Z: dessert**

**(Let me know if you have any virtual food allergies! I'd hate to have to break out the virtual EpiPens again... that was a disaster last time...)**

**As my last name starts with a ****_V_****, I think my family has brought brownies to EVERY POTLUCK WE'VE EVER BEEN TO... No wait; one time we brought cupcakes... with sprinkles...**

**"There is no more mercy in (thee) than there is milk in a male tiger" ~ William Shakespeare, ****_Coriolanus._**

**Best wishes!**

**~Bethany**


	25. A Losing Battle

Phil, Dan, and Jenny spent most of the nerve wracking next few days attempting to contact Mel through every method known to man. They tweeted, texted, called, emailed, and personal messaged; they even sent her private videos in which they begged her to contact them, all to no avail. Eventually, they had to come to the conclusion that Mel must have gone back to abiding by her restrictions.

Jenny called the leaders of all the US branches of YTRPFWA, asking if anyone knew how to get a hold of the elusive writer. It seemed as though everyone they talked to knew melazingfirekickstickzneribedtimehexaplantbrycooll i-keradgemonkeyssayhoottosnakesOMFGDFTBA_13 but, with the exception of Jenny, no one actually knew _Melanie_.

That wasn't all they had to deal with though. Dan and Phil spent pretty much every moment that they weren't trying to contact Mel attempting to keep each other alive – and to a lesser extent, sane. The frequency of their dramatic meltdowns had increased along with the suicide attempts, meaning that Dan and Phil could pretty much never be left alone.

After explaining the situation to her boss at YouTube Real Person Fanfiction Writers Anonymous, Jenny was given a special leave to help Dan and Phil deal with the repercussions of Mel's work in progress, or "WIP" as she called it.

At first, the two were very reluctant to let Jenny stay with them – due to the fact that she was a former stalker. Eventually though, they consented when they realized that even _sleeping_ had become a dangerous activity.

They had discovered this fact when Dan had just so happened to wake up at four A.M. and found Phil attempting to drown himself in the bathtub. So, they worked out a shift system with Jenny wherein one of them would sleep at a time and the other two would stay up to deal with any "external influences".

"You know, I think that there's still hope," Jenny told Phil one afternoon as they sat in front of the TV, half-heartedly playing Mario Kart Wii.

They had rigged up some video baby monitors – surveillance system style – so that they could keep an eye on their sleeping counterpart.

"Which is…?" Phil asked as his virtual car hit a banana peel and skidded off the track.

"VidCon," Jenny said. She hit a power-up just in time to take the lead from Yoshi. "According to that tweet, Mel's still going. That means that all we have to do is keep you guys alive for two more weeks until we can fly out to California, find Mel at the convention, and beg her to stop writing."

"Because it's not like there will be thousands of other people there so that it's next to impossible to find anyone," Phil sarcastically replied.

Jenny put down her controller and looked him right in the eyes. "You can't give up, Phil. You're not dead yet. Yeah, things are looking pretty grim, but we've held on for so long already. We can make it; I really believe that. "

Phil was about to reply when they heard the sound of sheets rustling on the baby monitor. Jenny flipped on the display and they saw the fuzzy image of Dan sprinting out of his room.

"Crap!" Jenny yelled. "Get him!"

The two jumped off the couch and raced down the hallway, trying to figure out where exactly he'd gone. After a quick search, Phil found his flatmate standing in the bathroom in front of the open medicine cabinet, about to stuff a handful of pills into his mouth.

"Dan!" Phil shouted. "Don't you dare!"

"What's the point?" Dan asked, his voice eerie and foreign. "Nobody likes me. No one would care if I were to just… disappear."

"That's not true," Phil said firmly, taking a step closer. "Now, give me the pills, Dan; I really don't want to have to kiss you again."

"You don't want to kiss me because you don't like me," Dan answered in the same hallow tone. "No one likes me."

"Dan," Phil warned, "that's a lie. Now, just give me the pills, and nobody gets hurt."

"We're already hurt, Phil," Dan's voice floated back. "Everybody's hurt, and nobody cares."

"I care," Phil said, taking another cautious step forward, "and so do the rest of your friends, and your family, and your fans, and lots of other people I don't have time to list right now. Your life does not have to end in tragedy. We're better than this. We can fight this."

"Goodbye, Phil," Dan said, dropping the little white capsules into his mouth.

At that instant, Jenny – who had taken advantage of the last few moments of distraction to crawl unnoticed into the bathroom – used a hardcover book to smack Dan in the back of the head as hard as she could. She and Phil then caught him as he crumpled to the floor and quickly proceeded to fish the slimy pills out of their unconscious companion's mouth.

"You see," Jenny panted as they dragged Dan back to his room, "this is why we can't give up."

"I know," Phil sighed. "I could never give up on him. Next stop: Anaheim."

* * *

**A/N: Hello Lovely Reader!**

**Today was a good hair day. As I'm sure you've experienced, these days tend to be few and far between, so I thought I would let you all share in my delight! Or hate me for it... that's an option too. **

**Is it just me, or don't good hair days always come when you were just going to stay inside and do homework all day? Like, it would be nicer if you could save up all your good hair days for special occasions on which you know you will be seeing lots of people. Oh, what a cruel world we live in!**

**So, in the reviews, people keep asking when I'll get on with the "Phan" part of my phanfiction parody... Well, I have a bit of a confession to make. Um, well, you see... *ahem* I don't really... um *ahem* well... *ahem* idon'treallyshipPhan *ahem***

**O_o (Look! I found a place for my emoticon... your reactions.)**

**There! I said it! I don't really ship Phan. Well, ****_I do_****, but not in the way you're thinking. I like the idea of them being in a relationship... but (unless they themselves make it otherwise) a platonic relationship. Now, I don't mind reading romantic Phan stories (obviously, considering the source material of this parody)... I'm just not going to be writing one anytime soon. **

**I'm not trying to be all holier than thou; I'm just not that big on writing romance at all (especially between ****_real_**** people who have repeatedly said that they're not in a romantic relationship). **

**Regardless of Dan and Phil's actual relationship, (which ONLY Dan and Phil know) I hate the idea that platonic relationships are somehow not as good as or less important than romantic ones. You can "like-like" people without loving them, and you can love people without "like-liking" them. You don't need to be sleeping with someone for your relationship with him or her to matter. **

***climbs down off soapbox* **

**(In case you wish to leave by the hoard now, a virtual shuttle bus has been hired for your connivance. No hard feelings! Be sure to thank the driver on your way out! He's really quite sweet...) :)**

**...**

**...**

**...Is anyone still here? Can we still be friends? Did I just commit the cardinal internet sin of insulting your OTP? *cries in corner* (I'm sorry if I've offended you)**

**Well, this has been awkward... Perhaps a word from Shakespeare can rectify this situation!**

**"(Thou hast) a plentiful lack of wit!" ~ William Shakespeare, ****_Hamlet_****.**

**Best wishes! (even if you hate me now)**

**~Bethany**


	26. Mayday

How Jenny, Phil, and Dan made it through those next fourteen days, they'll never know. Wired on equal parts fear, anticipation, and caffeine, the exhausted and slightly damp troop somehow managed to stumble aboard their flight just in time for takeoff.

"It's a good thing we left home seven hours early," Jenny remarked, taking her seat between Dan and Phil. "You were great back there, guys. Gold stars."

"Well, you know us," Phil rolled his eyes. "When we see teenage American girls with names like Opal Cooper –who just happen to be visiting London for a week on holiday and are big fans of ours – trip and accidently fall into the Thames, we just can't help ourselves from diving in after them, pulling them to the surface, and performing CPR until they come back around."

"_Literally_ can't help ourselves," Dan confirmed.

"Well, intentional or not, I still think you two were brilliant," Jenny smiled. "It could have been a lot worse, you know. If you weren't lugging around all of your crap for the trip, you would have had to wear soaking wet clothes the entire flight."

"Yeah, but we smell like _river_," Dan complained, "and my hair is all hobbit-y now."

"Oh, shut up," Jenny grinned, "literally _everyone_ thinks you're cuter like that anyway."

"I don't," Dan muttered.

"Neither do I," Phil added.

"You're in denial," she said simply.

Strangely, almost the entire eleven-hour trip passed without incident – disregarding Phil's pathetic attempt to eat the complimentary airline pretzels, which somehow culminated in one becoming wedged in Dan's left nostril. While the two guys were thrilled about the longest stretch of normality they had experienced in months, Jenny was concerned. She made sure to stay awake for the entire flight, determined to not mistake the relative calm for safety.

It turned out to be a good idea.

They had just passed the ten-hour mark in the flight, when the plane suddenly lurched to the left, jolting awake the two sleeping YouTubers.

"What was that?" Dan asked. He noticed that Jenny was gripping the armrest next to him so tightly that her knuckles were turning white.

"It'll all be fine," Jenny answered nervously, more to herself than to Dan.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking," the plane intercom system crackled. "We are encountering a bit of unexpected turbulence. Please remain in your seats until the seatbelt sign turns off. Thank you for your cooperation."

The plane pitched sharply to the right, causing some passengers to gasp. Jenny looked as though she was trying not to throw up.

"It's okay," Phil reassured her, "I've been through worse."

Jenny nodded, but stared directly at the back of the seat in the row in front of her.

The plane pitched left again, this time much more harshly. Now, some of the other passenger's gasps turned into shrieks of fear as the pilot fought to keep the plane upright. The flight attendants hurried up and down the aisles, trying in vain to keep everyone calm.

Jenny covered her mouth with her hand. Beads of sweat glistened on her forehead.

"Are you going to be sick?" Dan asked, edging away from her.

She shook her head "no", still staring straight ahead. "I just realized something," she murmured. "…I'm an idiot."

Dan was about to ask her to elaborate when the plane suddenly shot downward. Now the passengers were screaming so loudly that he could barely hear whoever was speaking into the intercom. However, he did manage to make out the words, "engine failure", "mayday", and "crash-landing".

"How could I be so stupid?!" Jenny screamed hysterically as the place plummeted into free fall. "I boarded your flight! I'm on the same flight as two guys condemned to a tragic death! I'm actually going to die!"

"You told me there was hope!" Phil screamed back over the cacophony. "This can't be the end!"

Their heads felt as though they were going to explode from the rapid changes in cabin pressure. All around them, lights switched on and off, alarm bells sounded, oxygen masks dropped from the ceiling, and people screamed.

"I guess I was wrong!" Jenny yelled back.

"Crash-landing position!" the head flight attendant barked into a loudspeaker as she buckled herself into a seat.

Dan, Jenny, and Phil crouched down in their seats, waiting for the oblivious fifteen-year-old author to write their lives away with a few strokes of her pen.

Over the intercom, they could just make out the sound of someone counting down the feet until impact.

"…fifteen thousand… ten thousand… five thousand…"

"Dan!" Phil screamed.

"What?!" Dan screamed back.

"I love you and I'm not even gay!"

"I love you too, Phil!"

And that was when the plane hit.

* * *

**A/N: Hello Lovely Reader!**

**Well, that was the end! Everybody died! Thanks so much for reading! **

**...**

**...**

**...**

**...Just kidding! I'll update soon :)**

**To anyone still sticking around after the "Phan" confession... thanks for that! :)**

**So, I don't know about the rest of you, but I've always secretly dreamed about being a YouTube star. The only things that I would need are a decent camera, a British accent, a Y-chromosome, a fringe, an engaging personality, some technical skills, a culturally acceptable body-type, some connections within the online video community... oh, and I'd probably have to get over those little fears of public speaking, being in crowds, being on film, being hated, and having my picture taken.**

**But other than that...**

**ANYWAY, you know those tag games on YouTube? I've always wanted to play, but never have (for the aforementioned reasons). So, how about we play here? I'll start :)**

**Seven Pointless Facts about JustGoogleIt/Bethany:**

**1. I was homeschooled from the age of four until the age of sixteen (when I graduated a year early).**

**2. I used to super-coupon. You know that annoying little old lady who always holds up the line for twenty minutes making sure that the guy scans every coupon? Well, I was sixteen, but otherwise that was me. It was my hobby. You know, some people played sports... I bought groceries: extravagantly. I probably spent about fifteen hours a week planning, unit pricing, clipping coupons, calculating deals, and shopping. It's quite a rush when you get a deal! There was this one deal I remember, where we worked it out so that Jewel was ****_paying us_**** to buy ice cream. Good times... :)**

**3. I am currently in college (uni for the non-Americans) to become a special education teacher with a certificate in American Sign Language interpretation ...but, I'd much rather be an author :)**

**4. For my thirteenth birthday, my uncle gave me a lawn mower. **

**5. I am certified to use a defibrillator (the machine that zaps people back if their heart stops).**

**6. I didn't get chicken pox until I was seventeen years old. (Now, I have a bunch of scars from it)**

**7. I have no sense of direction. Once, I got lost two blocks from my own house and was so confused that my Dad had to drive out and get me. When I started driving (I know, terrifying concept) my parents bought me a GPS. I named it "Brenda". We're best friends.**

**TAG! YOU'RE IT! Feel free to leave a review with seven random facts about yourself. I read and respond to everything... because you're all lovely people... and I have no life.**

**Or, if you'd rather use the complimentary review to which you've likely grown accustomed: "They lie deadly that tell you you have good faces" (Shakespeare, William. ****_Coriolanus_****)**

**Best wishes!**

**~ Bethany**


	27. Serious Business

The first thing that Phil noticed as his eyelids fluttered open was the fact that he was not dead.

Then he saw the sky. It was a beautiful shade of blue, stretching above him as far as he could see. Sunlight peeked out around the fluffy white clouds. Phil was particularly distracted by one cloud floating across his field of vision, which he decided looked like a cobra wearing a sombrero.

He could tell that he was lying on his back, although he had no clue where he was. Moving his fingers slightly across the ground, he could feel dry, scratchy strands of something attached to the surface. He pulled a few out and gingerly raised his arm until he could see what they were. A few blades of yellowed grass, scorched by the summer heat, fell out of his hand onto his chest. If he listened closely, Phil could even make out the sound of birds chirping.

"Phil!"

He slowly pulled his head up off the ground and looked around, trying to identify the panicked speaker.

From about fifty yards away, he could see two figures hurrying over to him. However, that part didn't interest Phil very much. What did interest him, was the sight behind them.

The "plane", if it could still be called that, was almost unrecognizable. Pieces of its smoking remains littered the ground, providing a stark contrast to the otherwise serene landscape.

"Phil!" Dan yelled again, hopping over some wreckage from a wing and jogging ahead. "Oh thank god! Are you okay?"

Phil carefully rose to a seated position and examined his limbs. To his amazement, he seemed to be intact.

"I-I think so," he said, astonished, "But… how? It doesn't make any sense!"

"Mel must have chickened out at the last minute!" Jenny exclaimed, looking absolutely giddy. "I swear, I could kiss her right now!"

"If she'll just stop trying to kill us, we'll all kiss her," Dan said.

"What about all the other passengers?" Phil asked anxiously, gazing back across the field at the ruins. He could see some people moving around, looking about as surprised to be alive as he was. Emergency workers

"Everyone we've met so far has been fine," Dan answered happily.

"Lots of people were knocked out though," Jenny added, "but that's kind of Mel's trademark thing."

"Yeah, I've noticed," Phil mumbled.

Dan offered Phil a hand and pulled him to his feet. "Now what?" he asked.

Jenny was already fiddling with her phone, trying to find a signal. "First, we figure out where the hell we are and then we haul our butts to VidCon before Mel tries again."

Dan gaped. "You mean she's not done yet?"

Jenny's answer was solemn, "That girl may be many things, but she's not a quitter. That was no tragedy fic; if we're not dead, she's not done."

* * *

**A/N: Hello Lovely Reader!**

**First, allow me to apologize for making you wait two days to read this really short and crappy filler chapter. It's my least favorite chapter... :p But just think; it could have been worse. Mel could have killed them off.**

**Anyone up for sample reviews? *crickets* We'll do it anyway! **

**Please copy-and-paste as appropriate:**

**"This is my least favorite chapter" (I know; mine too)**

**"I would have preferred it if you'd just killed them off so that we could be done and get back to our lives. Finals week is coming up and all..."**

**"I once was knocked unconscious during a plane crash... and I'm offended!"**

**"You have WAY too many unconscious people in this story; it's like watching seasons 2-4 of (new) Doctor Who!"**

**"You write the cheesiest descriptions I've ever read! What kind of line is, 'Moving his fingers slightly across the ground, he could feel dry, scratchy strands of something attached to the surface.' Seriously? Like, no duh, it's grass!" (I know... I'm sorry! I really suck at description, guys!)**

**"You suck. Just generally."**

**"I wasn't planning on reviewing this chapter until I saw this particular copy-and-paste-able review, and I thought, 'this one adequately expresses my thoughts, feelings, and/or opinions regarding this fic or life in general.' So then I did post a review... and here it is"**

**"I'll never use your sample reviews; I'm morally opposed."**

**"If you don't update tomorrow, I will literally decapitate you. It has less to do with any enjoyment I receive from this story and more to do with the strange addiction I've developed to it"**

**"I'm starting to wonder if your self-deprecating sample reviews are really just an elaborate ploy to get more reviews..." ( *shocked face* NO! Of course not! How could you think that of me?) ;)**

**"NO SOUP FOR YOU!"**

**Or, if you're exceptionally pissed at me (because of reasons), consider a Shakespearean review: **

**"Hang (her), swaggering rascal!" ~William Shakespeare, ****_2 Henry IV_**

**Best wishes!**

**~Bethany**

**P.S. To Ljubica Lukic and Sasaphrinascream: I would've PMd you too, but you're on guest accounts, so I couldn't. Thanks so much for your reviews and your facts though! I enjoyed reading them :)**

**P.S.S Ljubica Lukic - I'm sorry to put this here; I would have used the PM system, but like I said, I can't. I know that suicide can seem appealing (trust me, as a former anorexic who did the whole depression/life sucks/ I want to end it thing, I really do know) but it's never the answer. All it does is punish everyone you leave behind and cause them to wonder why you didn't ask for help or talk to them about it. There are people in your life who care about you (at least one: me!) and they really do want to help you. Please don't end things prematurely. There's so much to live for and - I know it's the cheesiest thing in the world, but - it really DOES get better. You just have to stick it out. **

**There's nothing heroic about killing yourself; there IS something heroic about asking for help when you need it. That takes real courage. Don't give up; you're loved more than you know.**


	28. Think Like a Girl

It was about two o' clock in the morning when the unconventionally abused troop finally stumbled into their hotel room in Anaheim. Dan had asked if they still needed to shift-sleep, but Jenny had replied that if she got any less than seven consecutive hours of uninterrupted quiet after the day she'd had, she would personally rip both of their heads off. So, they all threw caution to the wind and crashed onto the lumpy mattresses.

Thankfully, it seemed as though Mel was still so shaken up from her last attempt at writing tragedy that they actually slept through the night without incident.

When Dan awoke the next morning, Phil was already in the shower and Jenny was scrolling through her laptop, scribbling on a sheet of notebook paper with the same intensity that she had the night they first met.

"What are you doing?" he asked, stretching.

Jenny didn't even look up. "I'm trying to figure out Mel's identifying features."

"You mean you don't even know what she looks like?" Dan asked incredulously.

"We're internet friends. It's not that weird."

"But, doesn't she have a profile pic?"

"Let's see," Jenny said, counting them off on her fingers. "Her fanfiction profile pic is of you and Phil, her Twitter pic is of you and Phil, all her pics on Tumblr are GIFs of you and Phil, her Facebook albums are all about you and Phil, her Instagram is just retouched screenshots of you and Phil, her YouTube channel only has music videos made using clips of you and Phil, and her YouTube icon-"

"Let me guess," Dan interrupted, "is of me and Phil?"

"No, actually that one is a kitten," Jenny shrugged.

Dan shook his head slowly. "So, how _do_ you figure it out then?"

"I'm reading through her fics," Jenny replied, still jotting notes. "You can get a pretty good idea of what an author looks like by paying attention to how she describes her OCs. It's simple. For instance, Mel likes to give her OCs unnatural hair colors like blue and purple. So, what does that tell us about Mel?"

"That she has an unnatural hair color?" Dan guessed.

"No," Jenny groaned, "pay attention, Dan. Yes, OCs are usually self-inserts, but they're _fantasized_ versions. If Mel fantasizes about having blue hair, she probably isn't allowed to dye her hair, meaning that it's brown."

"Why brown?" Dan asked. "Why can't it be blond or black or whatever?"

"Because if she were blond, her OCs would also be blond and a hell of a lot smarter than they are now because she would feel the need to prove that the 'dumb blond' stereotype is false. If her hair were naturally black, she would be trying to prove that her OCs are not emo, and so on. Trust me, her hair is brown."

"Okay whatever," Dan said, holding his hands up, "you're the expert."

Jenny smiled. "Really Dan, it's not that difficult. Here, try an easy one. She describes some of her OCs as 'skinny enough to be anorexic, but not anorexic', and others as 'curvy'. So, what does that tell us?"

"That she's fat?" he tried.

Jenny banged her head on the table in frustration. "No! You have to think like a girl! If she just said that the OC was 'thin' then we could infer that Mel was probably chubby because she was using 'thin' in a positive way. But since she describes them as 'skinny enough to be anorexic', but then qualifies it by saying, 'but not anorexic', then we can infer that Mel probably gets accused of having an eating disorder because of her weight. If not, then she wouldn't have thought to qualify her statement in that way. So, in this case, the OC is an accurate representation of herself. Then, when she describes the other OCs as 'curvy', she's showing you her true fantasy, which is to actually have boobs."

"And your brain just does that?" Dan asked, stunned.

"Oh, those are the easy ones," Jenny said. She flipped through her notebook and held up a page covered in Venn diagrams, graphs, and algebraic formulas. "This is how I determined that she has a pet iguana."

By the time they had all gotten showered and dressed, Jenny had compiled a detailed list of Melanie's characteristics. It contained everything from her height –5'2" – to the facts that her dad left her when she was three years old, she was an only child, allergic to shellfish, and the iguana's name was 'Trevor'.

"Is this all really relevant?" Dan asked skeptically, gazing at the list.

"You'll never know what you need to know 'til you need to know it," Jenny recited. "That's what my algebra teacher used to say about quadratic equations, anyway."

Dan groaned.

"So, what's our plan now?" Phil wondered.

"We start looking," Jenny replied. "Mel could be anywhere."

"Uh, you do realize that we can't just wander around freely, right?" Phil asked. "We sort of get mobbed at these things."

"Exactly," Jenny said, "you guys are going to be the bait. You two find a way to attract herds of fangirls –I don't know, sneeze or whatever – and I'll walk around trying to pick out Mel."

"So, just to clarify," Dan began, "not only do we have to be in public while 'under the influence' but we're also going to ensure that hundreds of other people are staring at us?"

Jenny looked at him. "And your better idea is…?"

* * *

**A/N: Hello Lovely Reader!**

**I must inform you of a very grave problem regarding the number of people following this story. See, at the moment, there are 69 of you. **

**Now as I'm sure you all know, it is customary on the internet, upon seeing the number 69, to snicker. This snickering then allows the snicker-er to feel like an educated and experienced member of society (even if the snicker-er in question is only ten years old). Those who are unaware of the significance of the number 69 and therefore do not snicker appropriately (I was homeschooled; I understand), then feel left-out, naive, and confused. It's a very sad situation for them.**

**The solution that I propose (after advising those uninformed among us to preform a quick Google search, and then promptly clear the browsing history) is to systematically erase the number 69 from the world. My theory is that the less exposure people receive to the number 69, the less snickering there will be, and the less people will feel these negative emotions.**

**In this particular case, I can see only one solution to the problem of 69 followers: someone will have to un-follow, thus bringing the number back down to 68 which is a safe and lovely number, fit for consumption by all ages and not requiring any snickering. Then, we will have to cap it off at 68, thus ensuring that we do not reach that horrible, snicker-inducing number 69 again.**

**... Well, I mean, I ****_suppose_**** there's another solution to the problem... but I wouldn't want to impose on anyone. I mean, true, someone who is currently ****_not_**** following this fic ****_could_**** decide to follow it, thus bringing the total number of followers up to 70. And ****_yes_****, that ****_would_**** have a better chance of working in the long run... but I would hate to impose! ;)**

**"Here, thou incestuous, murderous, damned Dane, drink off this potion!" ~ William Shakespeare, ****_Hamlet_**

**Best wishes, all 69 of you.**

**~Bethany**


	29. Inspiration

As they had no better ideas, the three of them made their way into the expo-hall, set up a signing table, and let the mobbing commence with the hopes of luring Melanie to them. It wasn't long before there were a substantial number of very excited fans lined up to meet them.

"Oh my god! It's really you!" one girl squealed upon reaching the table.

"Yep, it's me," Phil smiled, "and, I'm conducting a little survey…" He glanced down at the list Jenny had left them. "Let's see… when you were nine years old, did you by any chance get lost in a corn maze for three and a half hours until the police rescued you?"

"Um… no?" she answered uncertainly.

"Oh okay; thanks anyway!" he said, quickly signing her Rapping Chicken T-shirt.

Next to him, Dan was having a similar conversation with another fan.

"Oh my god! You're really tall!" the girl giggled.

"So I hear," Dan murmured, running his finger down the list. "Quick question: on a scale of one to ten, which number would you say best represents your fear of opossums?"

About twenty feet down the cue line, Jenny was pacing up and down, interrogating the waiting fangirls. "Excuse me," she began to one, "would you mind describing your relationship with your biology lab partner in under ten words?"

The other girl frowned. "Um, do I know you?"

"No, probably not… but it's for Dan and Phil."

"Really? Okay then…" she counted the words off on her fingers as she spoke them. "Um… I. Threw. Up. On. Fetal. Pig. He. Laughed."

"Cheers," Jenny said, marking something on her paper and hurrying to the next person in line.

And so, apart from a few Pocky and Starbucks breaks, they spent the entire first two days of the conference in this fashion. They met loads of fans, smiled for hundreds of pictures, waved at countless video cameras, and asked question after ridiculous question, but still Mel was nowhere to be found.

"Well, this has been fun," Dan said sarcastically as they walked back to their hotel late in the evening of the second day. "We're still going to die, but at least we got to spend our final days smiling at strangers."

"But, Dan," Phil countered, "besides the usual food stuff and the Starbucks thing with Octavia Collins, I think we've gone the entire time here without anything weird happening to us."

Dan thought back over those two days. Actually, it had been fairly _normal_.

"That's true," Jenny said thoughtfully. "Maybe Mel really is done with her tragedy phase. Either that or the conference has kept her too busy to write."

"Do you think she's even here?" Dan asked. "I mean, wouldn't she have come up to meet us by now?"

Jenny scoffed, "She's here. If her mum hadn't let her come and she was at home sulking, you'd definitely be dead by now. I think that being at the conference is distracting her from finishing the fic."

"That's good, right?" Phil asked hopefully.

"Yes," Jenny tentatively replied, "but it's a question of her staying that way or not. If anything were to hap-"

"HEADS UP!" someone screamed.

Dan, Phil, and Jenny looked up just in time to see a massive, dark object plummeting down from the sky. Phil yanked them all to the side at the last possible instant, and the object hit the sidewalk with a deafening crash.

"Jesus Christ!" Dan swore, staring aghast at the piano's shattered remains on the sidewalk. "Who the fuck drops a piano?!"

"Oh fuck! I'm so sorry!" a familiar voice yelled from the conference roof above them. "Are you guys alright?"

"But, _w-why?_" Phil stammered.

"I don't really know!" the person called back, his own voice quavering. He stepped into the light a bit more, which allowed them to glimpse his distinctively blue hair. "They didn't even ask me to play at VidCon!"

"Tom Milsom?" Dan gawked. "Did you just drop a piano on us?"

Tom held his hands out in front of him at stared at them, as if trying to figure out how they had been capable of such a feat. "This is going to sound weird," he called back, "but-"

"It's fine! Don't sweat it!" Jenny cut him off. She grabbed Dan and Phil's arms and began yanking them away towards their hotel. "Guys, we have to run now!"

"Why? What's going on?" Phil asked anxiously.

"Just MOVE!" she commanded.

Confused, the YouTubers ran after her. They were sprinting across the parking lot when they heard the sound of tires squealing. From seemingly out of nowhere, two cars flew wildly across their path, nearly taking them out, but managing to swerve away at the last possible second. The vehicles came to an abrupt stop and the drivers jumped out, looking utterly astounded.

"You? But… why?!" Phil managed as soon as he could catch his breath.

"Oh my god! Are you okay?" John Green called, hurrying over.

"I-I don't know what happened!" Hank blubbered, also racing towards them, "I-I mean, I know _what_ we were doing, but I can't for the life of me remember _why!_"

"Yeah, Hank, which one of us decided to go drag racing in the VidCon parking lot?!" John exclaimed, turning on his brother. "Was that you or me, and why the _hell_ did that seem like a good plan?!"

"We forgive you!" Jenny shouted, dragging a dazed Dan and Phil across the rest of the parking lot and leaving the two dumbfounded hosts arguing with each other.

"Keep moving, you two!" she ordered as they rushed into the hotel lobby. "No time to waste!"

"Stop! Look out!" Dan screamed.

Phil and Jenny skidded to a halt just as the flame-thrower shot the brilliantly colored fireball across their intended trajectory.

"Oh my god! I don't know why I did that!" Kristina Horner exclaimed, staring at the strange device in her hands, "or where this thing even came from! I think I'm going insane!"

"Happens to the best of us!" Jenny hollered back, still sprinting through the building.

"What is going on?!" Dan called, struggling to keep pace with the frantic support group leader.

"This is bad, guys," Jenny panted, pure fear evident on her features. "This is the worst thing that could have possibly happened!"

"What is it?" Phil panted back.

Jenny gulped. "I think Mel's been… _inspired!"_

* * *

**A/N: Hello Lovely Reader!**

**This was one of my favorite chapters to write :D**

**Thankfully, the 69 follower problem has been resolved! *smiles and waves happily at all 74 of you!* I think the next snicker-inducing number is 666, so we should be good for a while now... ;)**

**SAMPLE REVIEWS: (for your copy-and-pasting pleasure)**

**"YOU SHOULD HAVE INCLUDED *fill in the blank* IN THIS CHAPTER!"**

**"I'M GOING TO VIDCON! :D :D :D"**

**"I ****_wish_**** I could go to VidCon... *sighs longingly*" (Me and you both, kid)**

**"I once accidentally dropped a piano on my friends... and I'm offended!"**

**"You do realize that this story is getting far too long, right? Ain't nobody got time for this!"**

**"I would prefer it if you just had them kiss already... good grief!"**

**"Bethany, shouldn't you be studying for finals?" (Why yes, yes I should)**

**"I haven't reviewed in a while (or ever), because I have better things to do with my life and I feel that reviewing the same story multiple times is redundant"**

**"I am relatively content right now"**

**"Hag of all despite!" ~ William Shakespeare, ****_Henry VI_**

**Best wishes!**

**~Bethany **


	30. Just a Story

**…..**

_I can actually feel my heart breaking. It's currently being ripped into shreds within the walls of my chest and I am powerless to stop it. Nothing will ever be okay again. He rejected me. He said no. He doesn't love me. I am worthless._

_I slowly creep up to the edge of the building and let my toes hang over the side. I can hear the cars passing below me, oblivious to the fact that, just twenty stories above them, a man is taking his final breaths. I suppose they wouldn't care anyway though…_

_I look down at my scarred wrists. I feel the un-swallowed pills still in my pocket. I run my fingers over the rope burn on my neck. I have tried so many times, and failed. I will not fail now. Before, I was weak. Now, I will be strong._

_"Listen, Phil," he had told me, "we can still be friends. Just because I don't like you in that way doesn't mean that anything has to change between us."_

_He's oblivious. He doesn't know that he might as well be stabbing me in the heart with a knife. Crushing me. Running me over. Burning me alive. He has no idea what those words mean to me: rejection._

_I take another tiny step forward. Now I am balancing here on the ledge. If I lean just a few centimeters further, it'll all be over. I think about my inner ear – which I remember from science lessons is responsible for balance – and how hard it's fighting right now to keep my wobbly frame on this roof. I suppose my brain forgot to tell it that its efforts today are in vain._

_I can see the wind blow my hair over my eyes, but I don't feel a thing. I am completely numb on the outside; the pain inside commands my full attention._

_I hesitate now, watching the dust fall from beneath my shoes to the street below. I wish I could hate him. That would make what I'm about to do so much easier. Then I wouldn't have to feel so bad about the pain this will cause him. But I don't hate him. I love him. And he doesn't love me._

_A single tear slides down the side of my face, and I let it fall. The note sits on his desk, where I know he'll see it. I am almost done with the pain. I am almost free. I creep just a bit further._

_"I'm sorry, Dan," I whisper as I lift my right foot. "I am so, so sorry."_

**…..**

Melanie trembled as she scrawled out the words in her notebook, her hot tears mixing with the ink to make the letters almost unreadable. She knew she would have a hard time deciphering the words in the morning when she typed out and uploaded her fic, but an author must take inspiration whenever it comes.

She was sitting on a bench near the elevator on the second floor of the hotel, not daring to write in her room while her mom was there. Ms. Russo had told her that she was really proud of her daughter for abiding by all of her restrictions without too much attitude. The final test of Mel's sanity however, which would determine whether or not she stayed grounded for the rest of the year, was if she could keep herself away from Dan and Phil's signing booth for the duration of the conference.

While Melanie thought this was the "cruelest and unusual-ist" punishment ever concocted, she also didn't feel that there was much choice. Ms. Russo was already being a less than enthusiastic chauffer, and she _had_ paid for half of the travel expenses.

"Lion, Totoro," Mel sniffed, stroking the plush creatures that she had brought with her from the room, "I'm really sorry, but I have to do it. I promised my readers."

She didn't know if she was imagining it or not, but the stuffed animals seemed a bit colder than usual to Mel's touch, as though they really knew what she was about to do to their friends.

"It's just a story," Melanie choked out to them. "It's not real."

But still, she sobbed on.

Blinded from the tears and more or less deaf from the depressing music blaring at her through her crackly old iPod Nano – which her mother had forgotten to add to the list of banned electronics – she pressed the _up_ button on the elevator.

When the carriage arrived, she stepped in and pushed the button for the top floor. She moved all the way to the far corner of the elevator, pressed her back up against the wall, and slid down until she was sitting on the floor, knees bent up to her chest.

Just as the doors were closing, Mel saw the blurry figure of another person hurriedly sliding into the elevator. Feeling a bit pathetic at the reason for her tears, she buried her face in her knees and did not acknowledge him.

Mel continued to cry quietly as the elevator began its assent. She thought she could feel the stranger looking at her, but she didn't look back. The last thing that she wanted was to have to explain herself.

She opened her notebook again.

_ "One more sentence_," she thought, "_and it's all over."_

* * *

**A/N: Hello Lovely Reader!**

**I have received a few reviews asking about the last chapter. The big question is, "Why didn't they just ask the fangirls if anyone was named 'Melanie Russo' rather than going through that ridiculous interrogation process?" This is a valid question, and now that you mention it... I have no good answer. It is what we in the biz like to refer to as a "plot hole". **

**There are a few such plot holes in this story. For instance, "How come Dan and Phil didn't almost have to marry Gabriela and Penelope from Mel's wedding fic?" (too complicated), or, "I sincerely doubt there's a parking garage across the street from Dan and Phil's house" (they had to jump off something), or, "I don't think that someone would be counting down the feet until impact during a plane crash!" (I know, but it was more dramatic that way).**

**I'm tempted to draw your attention back to the plot of the entire story (fifteen-year-old American girl eats a piece of candy and winds up controlling lives of two British twenty-something YouTubers) and then point out that this ENTIRE STORY IS RIDICULOUS, but at the same time, I can't really do that because your point is still valid.**

**Isn't it funny how our brains work? **

**For instance, while watching Doctor Who, we might scream at the TV, "But the seventh doctor said he was 953 years old! How can the tenth doctor say that he's 903?! Impossible!" Now, logically, that doesn't matter because THE ENTIRE SHOW IS COMPLETELY MENTAL, but yet it still bugs us. Why? Because to enjoy a fictional story, we have to accept certain impossible conditions as being possible within the parameters of that universe. To enjoy Doctor Who, we have to accept that the seemingly invincible sonic screwdriver does not work on wood. To enjoy Harry Potter, we have to accept that young wizards not only exist, but also attend European boarding schools. To enjoy Dan and Phil's videos, we have to accept that "placenta" is a perfectly acceptable word for inserting into conversations that have nothing to do with child birth.**

**And so, we accept all these things. We create a mental structure of all the rules that exist within each fictional (or semi-fictional) universe, and we're fine as long as whoever is telling the story abides by those rules. Any rules not adjusted are assumed to be identical to the ones that exist in our own universe.**

**So, I guess what I'm trying to say is... the entire story is weird. That's why it's fiction. But that's also not a good enough reason because, as a writer, it is my responsibility to create and enforce the rules governing my fictional world. A plot hole is a failure to uphold my end of the bargain, and for that I apologize profusely.**

**Now, if you'd like, feel free to let me know of any other plot holes you've discovered in this story, and I'd be happy to attempt to explain myself :)**

**Oh, and while we're on the subject of problems with the story, I've been informed of a ****_glaringly obvious_**** typo in chapter 27. Apparently, some rouge "emergency workers" managed to insert themselves in my story. I do not know where these emergency workers came from, but they did not even do me the courtesy of forming a complete sentence. They just... are.**

**I'll award 238,479 extra credit points to any reviewer who makes a sentence/paragraph explaining those mysterious emergency workers. Plus, I will feature your explanation in the author's notes of my next chapter! :)**

**... *sighs* No one's going to do it, are they? Because that's not a very good prize is it? *sighs*... Love you anyway!**

**As always, I shall leave you with a Shakespearean review (which actually could refer to our emergency worker situation): "They were devils incarnate" (Shakespeare, William. ****_Henry V) _**

**Best wishes!**

**~Bethany**

**P.S. To DovahFinn (the only one who regularly uses the complimentary Shakespearean reviews)- You might want to change it to, "Thou art the devil incarnate!", as I am but one person... ;) **


	31. Don't You Dare

"How are we going to find her?" Phil asked anxiously.

"We check every room on every floor," Jenny answered determinedly. "We wake up every guest if we have to. We're stopping a murder, damn it!"

"Let's split up," Dan suggested. "We'll cover the most ground that way. I'll start at the first floor and go up. Phil, you start at the top floor and go down. Jenny, you start in the middle and go… uh, whatever! Just go!"

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Phil asked. "Splitting up never works in movies."

"This is not a movie; it's an infuriating cross between fanfiction and the real world," Dan countered, "and if we don't split up, we'll run out of time."

"I second that," Jenny said. "Do you guys remember all of Mel's identifying features?"

Dan and Phil glanced at each other and shrugged.

"Guys!" Jenny scolded, rolling her eyes. "This is only the most important thing in your lives!"

"Well, you brought the list, right?" Dan demanded.

"No! I thought we'd all have memorized it by now!" Jenny retorted. "Aagh! Men! Okay, cliff notes version. Melanie Grace Russo: female, brown hair, skinny, 5'2", fifteen-years-old, wrote over a hundred fics about you two, only child, here with her mum-"

"Good enough!" Phil cut her off, dodging the hatchet a very bewildered looking Sam Pepper had just thrown at him. "Let's go!"

"What the…?" Sam began, seeing the hatchet stuck in the wall on the other end of the hallway.

"It's all cool, bro," Jenny called, running past him towards the elevator.

Dan raced up and down the hotel floors, rapping on doors and begging every guest for the location of melazingfirekickstickzneribedtimehexaplantbrycooll ikerad-gemonkeyssayhoottosnakesOMFGDFTBA_13. He met plenty of pissed off parents and some freaked out fangirls, but no Mel.

After half an hour of frantic searching, his phone rang. It was Phil.

"Did you find her?" Dan asked excitedly.

"No," Phil said, his voice completely stoic.

"Then, what?"

Phil's reply was so eerily calm that it sent chills down Dan's spine. "I just wanted to say goodbye."

"What are you talking about?" Dan asked, his heart somehow finding a way to beat even faster. "Where are you?"

"I'm done, Dan," Phil's emotionless voice concluded. "I can't do it anymore. I don't want to go on. It's not worth it, and it will never get better."

"Where are you?!" Dan repeated, this time with more urgency.

"I am standing on the edge, overlooking the world. I am about to become one with the dust."

"The roof; got it! Phil, don't you dare move! I'm coming to get you!"

"It won't matter. Nothing matters anymore. Goodbye, Dan."

And with that, the line went dead.

* * *

**A/N: Hello Lovely Reader!**

**Wow, you guys are creative! I've received some... ****_interesting_**** explanations as to the origins of the rouge "Emergency workers" from chapter 27. Awards ceremony, anyone?**

**EsaEnai not only receives her 238,479 points, but also wins the award for the most biblical review with the following:**

"And the Lord spake thusly: Let there be emergency workers. Let there be emergency workers upon the fields, upon the doorways of your houses, and indeed upon the doorways of your houses upon the fields. And they shall be fruitful and multiply, and when two floppy-haired Tubers of You rise up on the Earth they shall be there. Where Holes of Plot reign upon the land in swarthy clumps for no other reason other than "swarthy clumps" sounds most cool, let there be emergency workers. Thus spake the Lord, and the people celebrated with bread and wine and orangutans."

-Book of Obediah, 4:20

**livvylovesyou offers two explanations: a conspiracy theory and a sci-fi reference *awards 238,479 points*:**

"The emergency workers were created in a government lab to pop from Kinder Eggs when trouble was near."

"Or they could be the little nanogenes from Doctor Who."

**Not only does DovahFinn officially WIN THE INTERNET with her stunningly beautiful first-person narrative, written from the perspective of the letters themselves, but she also receives 46 extra credit points for her copious amounts of flattery, bringing her total points accumulated from this venture up to 238,525. (What was that? No! I'm not biased! How could you think that?) ;) **

"Bethany was like our goddess. We'd gather around and read the new update for her story every day together, deciphering the hidden meanings, the funny little references, and discussing the overall awesomeness of it all. Every single day, she'd take up hundreds, if not thousands, of symbols and pop them into a document, posting them on her account for all to read and enjoy.

Those were the lucky ones.

Us? Yeah, we sat in the hard, cold databases, waiting our turn just like everybody else. But we were sick of waiting. We wanted to be noticed, we wanted to be typed, used for our intended purposes. But the line to the beginning was so, so long. And we were so far back. So, we formed a group of seventeen characters . One C, four E's, one G, one K, an M, a N, an O, twin Rs, an S, a W, a Y and a space. It took a while, but we debated about it until we found a name we liked- we called ourselves the Emergency Workers. And we made it our goal to get into Bethany's story before it was over. We sat casually in line, awaiting the time when she would start typing and the line would move. Once it did, we'd jump in and finally, we'd be into the story. Seems simple, right? Well, in all actuality, that's what we thought too. The line started tugging forward, telling us she was typing. My heartbeat picked up and I licked my pixelated lips. It was time.

We exchanged nods and gathered into a tight group, being sure to get into the right order. My yell echoed throughout the database as we began running. We ran for a while, getting yelled at and cussed out by the more orderly characters, but we didn't stop. We passed every letter from A through Z, every number you could think of, even the symbols, spaces, and dashes. And we kept running. Eventually, it came into view- the keyboard. We'd successfully ran all the way through the wire,and we were almost there- we could see the portal greedily sucking up letters to spit them onto a page. Some characters were scared and hung back, but it only reinvigorated us after our long run. We organized ourselves into order- and we jumped in. E-M-E-R-G-E-N-C-Y- -W-O-R-K-E-R-S.

I remember looking around for the first time once we'd appeared on the document, peering through the screen to look at my idol- Bethany herself, tapping away at her keyboard rapidly. I looked to my sides, realizing that yes, we had all made it, and yes, we'd all made it together. We sat there contentedly talking among ourselves, waiting for her to finish the chapter. Bethany sat back and sighed, quickly scrolling to the top of her document and quickly skimming through to check for mistakes. She smiled and opened a new tab, called 'fanfiction dot net'. I pity those characters now, knowing that thousands or even millions of characters are used up in just that way- put into a URL and never remembered again. She clicked a few things, added one of her famous authors notes and even her sympathies for somebody going through difficult times, and then she clicked it. 'Post New Chapter'.

And that's how the Emergency workers were born. Pushed through the keyboard by an unexpected fate, here we reside in chapter 27. And here we will stay."

**ThatPotterheadTimelord enlightens us all by providing the dictionary definition for "Emergency workers" and thereby earns her 238,479 points:**

"'emergency workers'; noun:  
Mythical creatures said to 'live on the internet'. Supposedly sighted in random places on different websites, especially and . Known for appearing in fiction stories without the author's knowing, usually completely unrelated to the story."

**partyyou is awarded the prize for the most vividly picturesque explanation (if this doesn't deserve some fan art, I don't know what does) *awards 238,479 points*:**

"The rouge "Emergency workers" are a metaphor for magical rainbow-puking kangaroos who will take over the world via cheese. It's obvious really..."

**BlazingStarInInkyBlackness receives 238,479 points for suggesting that the "Emergency workers" might actually belong in the story by some strange process of evolution which he/she attempts to explain by way of a very interesting metaphor:**

"I didn't think the emergency workers were a typo. I thought that they were just the people milling around who were alive and they were becoming emergency workers. Like when a female clownfish dies the male becomes female. Its actually nothing at all like that. But still..."

**Dolphelecat proposes that the "Emergency workers" might be just as confused as we are regarding their own existence *awards 238,479 points*:**

"As for the emergency workers, I think they were surprised to be alive as well. I think everyone in that scene was just generally confused by their own existence, whether they'd been in the plane or not."

**My little sister, Rose Marion BAD WOLF, was**** _originally_ awarded 238,479 points for her use of William Carlos Williams' poetry (and TFIOS reference)... but was later deducted 238,477 points for her failing to cite her obviously plagiarized work, leaving her with a mere 2 points. (We talked about this, child... *sighs* Cite your sources or face expulsion! ...although, you are homeschooled, so I'm not entirely sure how that would work...):**

"So much depends  
upon

emergency  
workers

glazed with rain  
water

beside the white  
chickens."

**Zellarest (who most definitely reviewed in time to be included in this author's note ;) ) earns 238,479 points for suggesting that the Emergency workers are actually somewhat of an object lesson for us all about the necessity of a good education: **

"Personally, I thought the emergency workers were strangely intentional. I thought they were examples. Examples of those who train their whole lives for one moment; going to medical school, eventually dropping out because of all the work they missed due to their grandmother's unfortunate incident with a truck driver and a walker in desperate need of an oiling, and taking those workshops for basic paramedic training instead. After years of bitter work, they were finally transferred to an airport to work as on guard medical assistants. They boarded that plane. It was their first day on the job, they were ready to take on the world, only to fail last minute. Everything they had worked for, everything they had done, turned to dust. They had failed everyone. And it was all for not.

And that is why the emergency workers exist, as an example.

Stay in school, kids. Don't do drugs. And don't eat glue, that stuff is disgusting."

**ScrewThatInternetHomo (whose explanation was definitely here the entire time ;) ) officially had the most disturbing explanation to the "Emergency worker" issue *awards 238, 479 points* *shudders*:**

"I was going to write an emergency workers theory.  
But you see.  
I am one.  
I am part of the E.W.  
And now, Bethany, I'm going to have to kill you.  
We brainwashed your family, co-workers, everyone who remembers you.  
Goodbye, Bethany.

'AAH!'  
You awoke with a jolt. Damn, these recurring dreams have been getting more and more realistic...  
'It's not a dream Bethany.'  
'You see.  
I am one.  
I am part of the E.W.  
And now, Bethany, I'm going to have to kill you.  
We brainwashed your family, co-workers, everyone who remembers you.  
Goodbye, Bethany.'

'AAH!' You awoke with a Jolt. But this time, it was different. You were ready. You jumped out of bed, hitting this 'Worker' on the head with your iPod stereo. You ran out your room, and onto the street, a police box stared back at you.  
'Aha, the doctor is here! Finally!'  
'You alright, Clara?' Quizzed The Doctor.  
'Yeah, weird dream, no time to explain, just get to the Statue Of Liberty!'  
The doctor jumped up, and said 'Right then! You can explain on the way. Don't worry, we've got time' He said, winking."

**Also, in the past twenty-four hours I've learned that it IS possible to fix typos in previous chapters WITHOUT deleting and re-uploading the entire chapter! Logically, now I could go back and remove the "Emergency workers" from chapter 27, but now I don't really want to. They've sort of grown on me.**

**Thank you so much to everyone who participated, everyone who almost participated, everyone who considered participating but then did not, everyone who flat-out refused to participate, and everyone who failed to read the chapter in time to participate and now feels slightly left out (if you're in the last boat and write a review anyway, I'll just edit you in and we can pretend it was there all along) ;)**

**Also (as if this author's note isn't long enough), I've uploaded a second story which contains the alternate beginning to this story. It's called "A Secret Shame". (Please note it is a one-shot and DIFFERENT from the upcoming deleted scenes crack fic that I promised you, which will likely happen ****_after_**** finals) :D**

**"(Thou art) white-livered and red-faced" ~ William Shakespeare,****_ Henry V._**

**Best wishes!**

**~Bethany **


	32. Elevating with the Enemy

"Phil? Phil!" Dan yelled into the phone. "Phil, if you die now, I'll fucking kill you!"

He redialed the number twice as he ran towards the elevator. Each time, it went straight to voicemail. He called Jenny as he reached the doors, sliding in just as they were shutting.

"Yeah?" she answered.

Dan didn't waste any time. "I think Phil's going to jump off the roof!"

"Shit!" she exclaimed. "This is what we get for going along with _your _plan!"

"My plan?!" Dan shrieked. "You backed me up!"

"I knew it was a bad idea from the start…"

"But…" he began. "Oh, it doesn't matter! We have to stop him! I'm in the lift, but you're probably closer!"

"I'm on it!" Jenny assured, and Dan could hear her pounding up the stairs.

"Jenny!" he called.

"What?"

"Just… please don't let him die!"

"No duh, genius," she replied, ending the call.

Dan starred at the little numbers appearing in the top right corner of the elevator as it moved up each floor: _3, 4, 5, 6…_

"Come on! Come on!" he begged the numbers.

Suddenly, the lights inside the carriage went out and the elevator stopped its upward climb, suspended between floors six and seven.

"What?! No!" Dan cried. He rapidly pushed the buttons on the wall again and again, as if he could somehow plead the elevator back into operation. "This can't be happening!" he cried, pounding on the door furiously. "No, no, no, no, no!"

He felt around the dark walls for the emergency phone. Upon finding it, he urgently pressed the receiver up to his ear.

"Your call is very important to us," the recorded female voice assured. "Please hold while we transfer you to the proper-"

"No!" Dan screamed, letting the phone fall. He had never felt so helpless in his life. Dropping to his knees on the floor, he broke down into sobs. "No! Not n-now! P-Please not now! I have to st-stop him!"

"Stop who?"

Dan turned around quickly, suddenly remembering that hadn't been alone in the small, dark box.

"My fr-friend!" he choked out between sobs. "H-He's about to do s-something r-really awful and it's n-not even his own_ fucking fault_!"

"Oh," the faceless voice replied, sounding as though it had been crying recently as well, "I'm sorry."

"It won't help," Dan wept. "This is r-really it. I can't sa-save him this t-time because I'm st-stuck in the bloody lift!"

"Look, Mister, maybe it will be okay," she consoled gently, reaching out into the dark to pat Dan on the back. "Maybe he'll change his mind."

"He ca-can't," Dan cried bitterly. "He's n-not in con-control of his own l-life anymore!"

"That's ridiculous," she said.

"It doesn't ma-matter. It's still t-true."

"Well, I don't believe it," she said confidently. "I believe that people control their own destinies. I'd even bet Trevor on it."

The name sounded familiar to Dan for some reason. "Who's T-Trevor?" he sniffed, "your b-boyfriend?"

"Sort of," she giggled. "My iguana."

Realization hit Dan like Tom Milsom's piano had hit the sidewalk. He unlocked his phone quickly and turned it towards the girl, using the backlight to illuminate the dark carriage. The skinny teenage brunette blinked and rubbed her eyes.

Dan used his sleeve to wipe the messy tears off his face. "Alright, Mel," he said coldly, "I'll take that bet."

* * *

**A/N: Hello Lovely Reader!**

**Are you scared yet? You should be. I am. Mel has a mind of her own... ;)**

**WARNING: the following has absolutely nothing to do with the story:**

**So, today I babysat from 8:45 am - 4:30 pm. As a result, I have a few words of general advice to share with you:**

**1. If you ever should find yourself playing baseball with a five-year-old (who happens to be profoundly terrible at baseball) and you've been throwing balls at him for half an hour or so while he's missed every single one, when he finally (by pure luck) happens to hit something, DO NOT get so excited for him that you attempt to give him a high-five BEFORE he's put down the bat. He might get confused. Just saying... Also, frozen peas make an excellent ice pack.**

**2. A quite amusing game to play with a two-year-old is, "Help! Help!". Here's how to play. Watch the two-year-old climb up on a relatively tall object (we're talking about 3-4 feet) and then wait until she suddenly remembers that she's scared of heights. "Help! Help!" she'll scream. At this point, you then lift her from the relatively tall object (ironically now holding her at an even higher height) and place her on the ground. Rinse and repeat... for two hours.**

**3. While pushing a five-year-old on a swing, should he demand an "underdog push", pretend that you have no idea what that is and run away. Under NO CIRCUMSTANCES should you give said child the requested push. Failure to abide by this rule may result in you preforming between 200 and 400 of these exhausting pushes over the course of the next two hours between rounds of "Help! Help!" with his sister.**

**4. Hide-and-seek is a generally bad idea.**

**5. Be sure to brush-up on the names and personalities of a few superheros and movie characters before attempting to play action figures with a die-hard fan. (For future reference, Spiderman is always a good guy, but Daredevil could go either way. Optimus Prime MUST be the leader of the good team, and whatever you do, don't mess with Chewbacca!) **

**6. One miniature chocolate cupcake (with a volume of approximately one cubic inch), when spread thinly, may be used to completely cover the entire body of a two-year-old child, if said child is allowed to feed it to herself. **

**7. Nothing can scare the crap out of a five-year-old faster than a bumble bee.**

**8. The TV show, "Strawberry Shortcake", while it may not be aimed at the eighteen-year-old college student demographic, is actually quite good.**

**Anyway, just thought I'd share... Anyone else learned anything though babysitting?**

**Oh! And but of course: "You, minion, are too saucy." ~ William Shakespeare, ****_The Two Gentlemen of Verona_**

**Best wishes!**

**~Bethany**


	33. A Few Choice Words

Gradually, the emergency lights flickered on, allowing Dan to get his first good look at the source of his misery.

Melanie's eyes widened. "Holy crap! It's danisnotonfire!" she squealed. "I can't believe I get to meet you! This is the best day of my life!"

"You!" Dan seethed, pointing an accusatory finger in her direction. "Do you have _any idea_ what you've done?!"

"What are you talking about?" Mel frowned.

"What am I talking about?!" Dan shrieked incredulously, jumping to his feet. "You've single-handedly destroyed two lives and you're actually asking that question?!"

"What?" she said shakily, also standing up. "I've never met you before! I just watch your videos; I swear!"

"Oh, you 'just watch my videos'?" Dan scoffed. "Sorry, I thought you'd been dictating most of my thoughts and actions for the past seven months. My bad."

The glare on Dan's face could have been personally responsible for global warming.

Melanie pushed herself further up against the wall, frightened. "Look, I don't know what your problem is, but I really have _no idea_ what you're talking about!"

Dan was about to unleash another round of pent-up frustration on the confused girl when his phone rang again. This time it was Jenny. He answered it.

"Dan!" she panted, "where the hell are you?! I can't hold him back much longer! He's stronger than he looks!"

Dan could hear the sounds of an epic struggle taking place on the other end of the line. Jenny was yelling something at Phil, but Dan couldn't quite make it out.

"I found Mel!" he replied, "but we're stuck in the lift!"

"Give her the phone! Now!" Jenny demanded.

Dan flipped on the speakerphone and turned towards Melanie. She was crying again, no doubt from the terror of meeting one of her idols in such a state.

"Talk!" he ordered, holding the phone out to her.

"What do you want from me?" Melanie sobbed.

"Melanie!" Jenny panted through the phone. "It's Jenny Alborn from the recovery group! You remember me, right? chennyismorecoollike? Listen, did you finish your tragedy fic? Did you make Phil jump off the roof?"

Still cornered up against the wall, the sobbing girl nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Yes!" Dan responded for her.

"Mel!" Jenny panted, "did you write a disclaimer?!"

"It's RPF!" Mel choked back. "I thought it didn't matter!"

"Phil, no! Phil!" They heard Jenny's muffled yell, followed by the clattering sound of a phone dropping to the ground.

"What's happening?" Dan called anxiously.

The struggle was intensifying and Jenny's voice was growing distant. "Disclaim it, Mel! Disclaim your fic!"

"How?" Mel whimpered.

"I'm losing him!" Jenny called. "He's at the edge! Help her, Dan!"

"But I've never done this before! What should it say?!" Dan pleaded.

"You were going to be a lawyer, damn it!" Jenny countered. "Write her the frickin' disclaimer and make her sign it!"

Dan grabbed Melanie's notebook from the floor of the carriage and flipped it open to an empty sheet of paper. He pulled a pen out of his pocket and starred at the blank page.

Jenny groaned loudly. "Hurry, Dan!"

He scribbled the words furiously:

The thoughts and opinions expressed in this fanfictional story do not necessarily reflect the views of the author and/or affiliated persons. I, Melanie Grace Russo, officially renounce all legal and illegal rights to the characters of Philip Lester (alias: AmazingPhil) and Daniel Howell (alias: danisnotonfire). They alone have control of their own lives.

X

* * *

"Sign on the dotted line!" Dan ordered, stuffing the pen into Melanie's shaking hand.

Mel pressed the pen's point onto the notebook and quickly scrawled out a signature. The moment that the ink closed the loop of the _o_ in _Russo_, the elevator jolted back to life and continued its vertical assent.

"Did it work?" Dan shouted at the phone. "Jenny?"

From the phone, he could still hear Jenny's muffled screams. "Phil! No! Phil! Don't! Stop! Phil!"

"It's done!" Dan cried helplessly. "It's disclaimed! What else can we do?!"

"No!" Jenny screamed. "Phil? Phil! No! NO! NOOOOO!"

And Dan knew they had been too late.

* * *

**A/N: Hello Lovely Reader!**

**(I tried to make the dotted line out of underscores, but this site is so picky... just pretend?) **

**So... when should I upload the next chapter? Next week? Next month? Next May? Ooh! Or I could pull a Moffat on you all and make you wait a year and a half! Maybe then I'd be GIF-able... ;)**

**Just let me know in reviews when you'd like the next installment... I'm pretty accommodating, but it IS finals week... (in college, finals week is more like finals ****_month_**** by the way)**

**A word from Shakespeare to tide you over perhaps? **

**"Thou hast no more brain (in thy skull) than I have in mine elbows" ~ (Shakespeare, William. ****_Troilus and Cressida. _****Act II, scene I. 1602.)**

**Best wishes!**

**~Bethany**


	34. Complexly Imagining

"You know," Phil addressed the old man sitting next to Dan, "I didn't even know that traveling mattress salesmen were a thing."

"Oh yes," Oscar affirmed, "I've been selling mattresses the good old fashioned way for the past forty-three years: door-to-door." He grinned giddily, "You know, my son-in-law is always telling me to set up a store so that I don't have to cart these things around all the time, but you know what I tell him?"

"What?" Phil asked, a small smile creeping across his lips.

"I tell him, 'If I set up a store, then I wouldn't be a traveling mattress salesman anymore'."

"That's… very logical," Dan nodded slowly.

Oscar beamed.

The sun was just beginning to rise on the disheveled but infinitely relieved little group as they waited in the hotel lobby for Mel.

"Thanks again so much for helping us out, Mr. Callaghan," Jenny said sincerely. "I don't know how we could ever repay you."

"Oh, it'll be $1749.99," the elderly salesman replied calmly.

Jenny laughed, but Oscar looked intent. "Wait… what?" she stammered. "For breaking his fall?"

"No," the man shook his head, "for breaking my mattress. You break it, you buy it. That one was $1749.99"

"What? That's ridiculous!" Dan exclaimed, pointing out the window. "Your sign out there says your stuff is 50% off!"

"Only select merchandise," Oscar argued. "Top of the line models – like the one your buddy here fell on – are not included in the current promotion."

"Aw, Phil!" Dan reproved. "Why couldn't you have landed on one that was on sale?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Phil said sarcastically. "Next time I'm plummeting to my death, I'll be sure to aim better so as to minimize the financial repercussions for you!"

Oscar pulled a calculator out of his pocket. "Alright kids," he said, "due to the extenuating circumstances I can take 10% off the sticker price and give you no money down until September."

"How about we give you two hundred bucks for the mattress and you can feel really good about yourself for a while?" Dan offered. "I mean, Jesus Christ! If we charged for all the lives we've saved in the past few months…"

"…then we could afford the mattress," Phil remarked under his breath.

"Alright, 15% off," Oscar revised, "and I'll throw in some free pillow shams."

"You're saying the pillow shams aren't normally included?" Dan asked incredulously. "What a rip-off!"

"Well, a man's got to make a living somehow!"

"By exploiting the semi-suicidal?!"

"You know," Phil muttered, "_some people_ would just be happy enough that their best friend _didn't die_ that they wouldn't care about the price of the pillow shams…"

"Quiet, Phil," Dan dismissed him. "I'm haggling."

They continued to negotiate with Oscar until the door opened, and John Green led the sniffling, red-eyed young author back into the hotel lobby. Hank followed a little ways behind, attempting to calm Mel's infuriated mother before she ripped her daughter's head off.

Jenny jumped up and gave her internet-friend a hug. "Oh look, Mel," she said encouragingly, "they un-cuffed you! That's a good sign, right?"

Melanie gave her a teary half-smile, and then turned to Dan and Phil. Her eyes immediately welled up with fresh tears at the sight of them.

"I'm so s-sorry," she choked. "I didn't m-mean to… to make you, I-I…"

"Deep breath," John advised, leading her to one of the lobby's armchairs. Melanie sat down and took a few breaths to compose herself before trying again.

"I just wanted you to be happy," Mel said quietly, "I thought…" she took another breath, "I thought that you could use some romance in your lives. I just wanted you to find true love."

Melanie buried her face in her hands.

"And…?" John asked gently. "What else did we talk about, Mel?"

She looked up and frowned. "That 'deadpanned' is the best dialogue tag?"

"No, the other thing," John whispered.

"That someone in every story needs to be named 'Hollis'?"

"No, I meant the-"

"That I should have made Dan and Phil go on a road trip?" Melanie tried again.

"Mel," John sighed in frustration, "tell them the _important_ thing we talked about!"

"Oh." She looked over to Dan and Phil, took another deep breath, and began slowly. "I guess… well, I wasn't imagining you guys complexly. I thought that just because I watched all your videos, and read all your tweets, and listened to all your radio shows, and whatever… that I knew everything about you. Like, that we were really friends! I wasn't thinking of you as real people, like, that you had other parts of you that you didn't share with the internet. To me, you were just characters… and… that was it!" She broke down again. "I'm r-really, really s-sorry!" she sobbed, "And I-I'll understand if y-you guys hate m-me forever!"

Dan and Phil glanced at each other and then both stepped over to hug the agonized fanfiction writer.

"You know, someday I'm sure we'll look back on this adventure and laugh about it," Phil said hopefully. "Granted, it's probably going to be a few decades, but eventually…"

"I don't hate you, Mel," Dan said quietly.

"And just think," Jenny chimed in, "you're going to have one awesome testimony if you ever become a group leader for YTRPFWA!"

Melanie smiled weakly and they sat there for a few moments.

"So, what's going to happen to you now?" Dan asked after a bit. "I mean, even if we wanted to, I don't think we could press charges, so…?"

"My mom called and got me admitted to the residential YTRPFWA in Chicago," she sighed. "I leave tomorrow."

"That's really good, Mel! I'm so proud of you," Jenny praised. "I'll write you every day."

"I'll write too," Phil offered, "but, you know, probably not every day."

"Same," Dan said.

"Oh cool!" Melanie grinned, "I love getting letters! I'll be sure to write you guys back. Maybe I'll even include some stories to keep things interes-"

"NO!" John, Hank, Dan, Phil, and Jenny all exclaimed in unison.

"Just kidding," Melanie giggled. She leaned in close to them and whispered, "I'm done writing your stories. It's time for me to make some of my own."

* * *

**A/N: Hello Lovely Reader!**

**Well, we did it. We made it to the end. We... we wrote a book, guys! *sniffs***

**...Alright, fine. ****M****aybe a****_ novella._**** And it's fanfiction. But still...**

**Seriously, you guys have no idea how much your support has meant to me. It's been absolutely fantastic getting the chance to write for and interact with you all. I've had a blast! :D**

**Now, allow me to take a moment to personally thank everyone who took the time to review (if you read this late and review anyway, I'll edit you in and we'll just pretend you were here all along)... ;D**

* * *

**livvylovesyou**

**ThatEnglishRoseisnotonfire**

**lifelane**

**Guest (1)**

**Rose Marion BAD WOLF**

**DovahFinn**

**Ljubica Lukic**

**Dolphelecat**

**TheSunIsOnFire**

**kickingpj**

**username**

**SherlocktorWho**

**ScrewThatInternetHomo**

**aleprbla**

**CrazyxChaotic**

**mariana92l**

**LilyisAAFT**

**That70'sGirl12**

**btea**

**Delighted Reader**

**HazLovesBoo**

**FujiFire**

**fatedfortunes**

**NotYourStereotypicalBlondeGirl**

**Sibuna Kitten**

**AtrueFighter**

**Guest (2)**

**DollyDaydream8**

**EggyDanosaur**

**KateTheCrazy**

**ThatPotterheadTimelord**

**beebee73**

**SS Shipmypants**

**wormtail-was-a-whovian**

**Els4848**

**Kandi-Neko**

**StarFox-chan**

**Epiculous**

**JBo **

**Ziazan**

**Midnight4568**

**TheAdelaide9**

**Alexlogged out**

**MadTheLion**

**Sasaphrinascream**

**Random**

**Lillian**

**FlyingInTheTardis**

**AmazingKickTheStickzIsntOnFire**

**Mylifeisbooks**

**BlazingStarInInkyBlackness**

**Zellarest**

**Guest (3)**

**SameStars**

**Beechy**

**LillithxLuna**

**a-light-of-hope**

**partyyou**

**Anon for today**

**Random Girl**

**Perpetual Purple**

**Alex D**

**Spiral-Of-Fools**

**EsaEnai**

**LoneWolForever**

**Gemstone**

**Accountless**

**PartyPoison**

**Zombiesunderyourbed**

**Merlin Lover**

**ConfusionPersonified**

**rantingsarah**

**Evie **

**COWGOMOO**

**ConcernedCitizen**

**Screwthatqpowik**

**Esme**

**SoundAtMinimum**

**Destined Jonas**

**PhangirlTillTheEnd**

**Lily-Frogg**

**thisGirlhasFantasy**

**Kryptonic Rhyme**

**nerdyravenclaw2000**

**crazzy-hschickk**

**TheConverseKid**

**Phangirltaylor**

**Guest (4)**

**Guest (5)**

**Guest (6)**

**FliptheHourglass**

**PhanFictionz**

**GirlNeedsAccount**

**chiakaiyuki**

**someone**

**Dylan**

**Guest (7)**

**Guest (8)**

**Guest (9)**

**Alek Hohenberg**

**GingerLover123**

**thebiscuitfish**

**x-Drarry-Lover-x**

**Kate**

**Smitty**

**Guest (10)**

**elizmoore09**

**CanticumDreams**

**SomeoneThatIsNotMe**

**some loser**

**multifandomer**

**RainbowPeaches**

**Guest (11) **

**Emily**

**LiveEatBreatheWrite**

**Rawrdragonz**

**Emy**

**jpuddleduck22**

**Scott McNamara**

**dena**

**Guest (12)**

**Also, a HUGE thanks to my lovely beta-reader, KDaisyH, for sticking with me though this monstrosity!**

* * *

**Guys, I'm sad this is over... it's been fun and you've been fantastic readers. Thanks for not giving up on me :)**

**The deleted scenes fic is currently up. It's called (not surprisingly) "When You Wish Upon a Star: A Phanfiction Parody (deleted scenes)". It's... going to be weird. I'm excited! :D**

**Also, my Tumblr (for those of you who just can't get enough of me) (which is all of two of you) is well-thats-specific. I haven't done much with it in the past (Tumblr confuses me) (Crap, now I sound like an ****_adult... _*****shudder*), but I'm going to start soon. So, take it or leave it. :)**

** A final word from our revered playwright: *sniffs***

**"Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow!" (Shakespeare, William. ****_Romeo and Juliet_****. Act II, scene II. 1597.).**

**Best wishes, as always!**

**~Bethany**


	35. A (Final) Word From Your Author

**A/N: Hello Lovely Reader!**

**You didn't think you could get rid of me that easily, did you? :)**

**The following are the extended author's notes for each chapter. Enjoy! (Or despise; the choice is yours)**

**Best wishes!**

**~Bethany**

* * *

Chapter 1 - A Word From Your Author

a. Well, this whole chapter is an author's note, silly! :)

Chapter 2 – Sweet Daydreams

a. Black River Falls Wisconsin is the town that my family associates with strange happenings, incompetence, and general misery. It was in this tiny town in the middle of nowhere, that a deer ran out in front of my family's minivan, smashing in the hood of the car and completely ruining our vacation. My family then spent the next seventeen hours in the freezing cold, trying to find a way to get us all home safely. Eventually, one of my uncles drove out to pick up my mom, brother, and sister, while my dad and I drove home with the incredibly creepy punk-rocker/liquor store owner/tow truck driver. True story.

b. Writing Melanie's character is really fun because it's the personified equivalent of ranting.

c. The video referenced here is "LAHWDS" from ItsWayPastMyBedTime, uploaded January 8, 2013. It essentially inspired this story.

Chapter 3– Human Decency

a. I would conservatively estimate that 20% of YouTube RPF could not exist without the assumption that British people are incapable of carrying a cup of coffee ten feet without slopping it on an American.

b. Ophelia's character was the most fun to write because rambling is even more fun than ranting. You have to admit, she has a point about the jumper thing though…

Chapter 4 – Homophobia

a. I'd say about 70% of phanfics include a "coming out" scene. I tried to make mine as unromantic as possible.

Chapter 5 – The Morning After

a. There is much controversy on the internet over whether Dan and Phil live in an apartment or a house. Personally, I take great pride in _not_ being obsessed enough to know the answer to that question. However, for the story I had to pick a side, and I went with the house theory because I've yet to see an apartment with stairs.

b. After I had decided on this theory, Dan uploaded his _apartment_ tour video. At that point, I decided to play the American card and pretend that even though he calls it an apartment, we'd call it a house. Whether or not this is true, I'm sticking with it.

c. Okay, I lied. I went back and changed "house" to "apartment" or "flat" because I couldn't stand being knowingly wrong. I'm probably still wrong, aren't I? Oh well, I tried, guys.

Chapter 6 – Coffee with Eeyore

a. As a rule, I don't swear, so it was weird for me to include swearing in this fic. However, it seemed incomplete without it, so… sorry Mom.

b. Unconsciousness is a ridiculously common theme in RPF, and I intend to exploit it for all it's worth.

c. I think Oriella is the most bearable OCs in this story, actually.

Chapter 7 – What are the Odds?

a. I learned a bit about Tourette syndrome for this fic – See Mom, I'm definitely doing homework!

b. I debated for a long time how to convey the shouting in the fic. At first I was worried that the all-caps looked unprofessional. Then I remembered that this entire fic is unprofessional, so I caps-locked to my little heart's content.

Chapter 8 – Release the Scurry

a. A group of squirrels is genuinely called "a scurry". Once I had learned this fact, I thought my life had been enriched so much that I had to find a way to work it into the story. Originally, Phil was just going to trip over a misplaced manhole cover.

(By the way, a group of rhinos is called "a crash", a group of hippopotamuses is "a bloat", and a group of ferrets is "a business", according to the Northern Prairie Wildlife Research Center's website.)

b. I don't exactly know what the assailants' accent is supposed to be… I just wanted to make them talk funny.

Chapter 9 – Pizza Rebellion

a. Logically, real life Dan and Phil must eat more than seven or eight foods, but you wouldn't get that from reading phanfics. I'm fairly sure the diet I've described in this story would give someone Scurvy…

b. I didn't intend to make any of the innuendos in this chapter. They just happened.

Chapter 10 – Not a Wuss

a. I've always doubted the sincerity of the "interesting name" compliment…

b. I know a girl like Oracle: unintentionally abusive.

Chapter 11 – Arguing with the Woozy

a. Olympia's strategy is a popular one. I think we all like to believe that we'd be the only sane person amid herds of fangirls. Statistically though, it's unlikely.

Chapter 12 – Unintentional Altruism

a. If you can't tell by now, I hate describing things and I'm not particularly fond of writing action scenes. Dialogue is my favorite part. Honestly, I'd be happy just writing a story about a group of witty, floating heads that requires no scene changes or physical descriptions. Alas, no one else seems to like that, so occasionally I have to break out of my bubble and write actual scenes.

b. The bystander part was the most fun part to write. They pretty much _are_ floating heads.

c. In case anyone ever needs to know, this is proper CPR technique. Because I want to be a Special Education teacher, I had to get Red Cross certified in CPR, AED, and first aid for adults, children, and infants. It bugs me to no end when people portray it inaccurately on TV (*coughs* Doctor Who *coughs*) or in other forms of media.

Chapter 13 – They're Dropping Like Flies

a. The whole "American-visiting-London-for-a-week-and-bumping-i nto-her-favorite-YouTubers" is an extremely common theme in RPF. Its cousin, "American-studying-abroad-moves-in-next-door-to-he r-favorite-YouTubers", is also very common, but I couldn't work it into the story as well as the first one.

Chapter 14 – Rain, Rain, Go Away

a. "Whilst" is one of my favorite English words that is not part of the standard American vocabulary. I've tried to bring it back, but my peers seem content with boring old "while". On the same note, I debated for a long time whether I should write the fic in "American" or "British" (referring to the spelling changes and certain words like elevator/lift, sweater/jumper, trash/rubbish, while/whilst, and so on). In the end, I decided to go with what I was most familiar with for the spelling and the narration, but to try and use the appropriate terms in dialogue depending on who's speaking. I'm not promising I did it right, but I had two wonderful (and British) beta-readers to help me out.

b. The "thunderstorm" fic and the "bad dreams" fic are more or less the same. One character channels his inner six-year-old and seeks comfort in his companion's waiting arms. Again, I tried to make my interpretation as unromantic as possible.

Chapter 15 – Adapting

a. Oh look, a summary. Blah.

b. I maintain that people really can get used to anything if given enough time: we're remarkably adaptable.

c. I think people would buy that T-shirt.

Chapter 16 – Sword Drills

a. I swear, I've read Melanie's fic before. I think it's funny how straight shippers feel the need to provide an OC for each character so that no one gets lonely. I've always wondered what would happen if two best friends were to marry a set of identical twins… Even better would be if a set of identical twins married another set of identical twins. That would just be creepy. Imagine the cousins…

b. For anyone who did not grow up in Sunday school and youth group, sword drills are real. Not to brag, but I was pretty good at them.

c. The video referenced here is "How To Befriend Your Favourite Internet Stars" from danisnotonfire, uploaded November 10, 2009.

Chapter 17 – Wallowing

a. I feel it's important for me to clarify that I'm not making fun of depression at all. I'm merely poking some fun at the prevalent theme of at least half of RPF: that _every single YouTuber_ is secretly depressed and suicidal because the person with whom he or she is most commonly shipped won't return his or her affection.

Chapter 18 – Leap of Faith

a. Of all the ways to kill yourself, jumping from a great height has to be the scariest. What if you change your mind part-way down?

b. The old woman's character is loosely-based on Daisy, my grandpa's former home health aide. She was awesome.

Chapter 19 – Social Rules

a. Again, I'm NOT making fun of depression or suicide. I'm making fun of pretending that people you've never met are secretly suicidal.

b. And, what fanfic is complete without a totally unrealistic YouTuber party?

c. My mom actually does the ice thing. It really works – no one seems to mind buying ice, and you get a good ten minutes to finish getting ready for your party. It's kind of brilliant.

Chapter 20 – Save Our Ship

a. Basically, I could put any two YouTubers together in this chapter and still have it seem realistic. Shippers are both undiscerning and relentless.

b. For the record though, every ship listed is real: including the hedgehog and inanimate objects.

Chapter 21 –Coming Out of the Closet

a. Hehe, they _literally_ came out of the closet. See what I did there? You probably did; I'm not subtle. While we're on that subject, you _did_ notice that all Mel's OC's have a first name starting with "O" and a last name starting with "C", right? Just checking.

b. YouTube Real Person Fanfiction Writers Anonymous, as far as I know, is not a thing. But maybe it should be.

Chapter 22 – Professional Help

a. Melanie's username is a rant in itself. What happened to originality?

b. As in other areas, I tried my best to strip the romance away from the obligatory Dan and Phil kissing scene.

c. If this fic had a background track, it would be "Meltdown!" by the Aquabats.

Chapter 23 – The Holy Scriptures

a. To my knowledge, neither The _Book of Daniel_ nor the _Book of Philip_ is currently in existence. And as that would be the creepiest thing _ever_, let's keep it that way.

Chapter 24 – So, We're Screwed

a. While at first, I thought I had come up with a perfect numeration system for the "Holy Books", just finding the two references used in this fic proved to be probably the most frustrating part of this whole experience. Oh. My. Goodness. There are _so many_ jump cuts in Dan's videos.

b. The video referenced here is "I Will Go Down With This Ship" from danisnotonfire, uploaded June 21, 2012.

c. One of the "deleted scenes" from this fic includes Dan testing Jenny's ability to memorize his "scripture" (sort of like sword drills). Dan was going to ask her to recite Daniel 13:43 or something and Jenny would scoff at him and say that he can't have forty-three jump cuts in a video because he would induce seizures. The problem with that joke is that I severely underestimated how many jump cuts are actually in a video. For instance, in "I Will Go Down With This Ship", I counted ninety-eight. I have a whole new respect for editing.

d. I tried to include as many hashtags as possible in Mel's tweet. It would have been better if she posted it on Facebook though…

Chapter 25 – A Losing Battle

a. Yes, I did make the Mario Kart Wii game play out pretty much exactly like it does in Alex Day's song. Remember: I hate describing things. I take shortcuts when available.

Chapter 26 – Mayday

a. I like the word "hobbit-y".

b. "I love you and I'm not even gay" is one my favorite lines in this whole fic. Regardless of Dan and Phil's actual relationship, I hate the idea that platonic relationships are somehow not as good as or less important than romantic ones. You can "like" people without loving them, and you can love people without "liking" them. Just because you aren't sleeping with someone does not mean that your relationship with him or her is unimportant.

Chapter 27 – Serious Business

a. I really do write the cheesiest descriptions, don't I?

b. Once I finished uploading this entire fic, I went back to fix some typos. The "Emergency workers" have been preserved though, because they've sort of grown on me. Also, I'd just like to take a moment to state that everyone who wrote an explanation for them created "a fanfiction of a typo, in response to an author's note from a fanfiction parodying phanfiction". You guys are AWESOME :D

Chapter 28 – Think Like a Girl

a. Honestly, I don't know if you can tell what I'm like from my OCs or not. I tend to create ridiculously outgoing characters, when in reality I'm very shy and introverted in person. My theory is that I have the potential to really be that obnoxious, but my self-consciousness keeps it in check.

Chapter 29 – Inspiration

a. It was really hard for me to write about VidCon, as I've never been there and have pretty much no clue what it's like. Kind of like London, actually…

b. I picture Mel sitting somewhere in the hotel, desperately trying to write the tragic ending but at the last moment, crumpling up the paper in frustration, which allows Dan and Phil to dodge another danger.

c. While writing this section, my Google search history included such queries as: "common ways to commit suicide", "tragic deaths", and "funny ways to kill people". I share a computer with my family.

d. I just really wanted a falling piano in this fic.

Chapter 30 – Just a Story

a. Mel's last fic was one of the easiest parts to write, possibly because I have read at least ten fics with this story line.

Chapter 31 – Don't You Dare

a. I'm not a very emotional person, but the line "I'm coming to get you" actually made me choke up. I guess we all want to think that someone would come to get us in that situation.

Chapter 32 – Elevating with the Enemy

a. One of the cardinal rules of RPF is, "If there is an elevator in the fic, then someone must get stuck in it".

Chapter 33 – A Few Choice Words

a. It would be pretty terrifying to be in Mel's position, wouldn't it? I felt kind of sorry for her…

b. I enjoyed writing the disclaimer. I like to see how formally I can word things.

Chapter 34 – Complexly Imagining

a. I really wanted to include a traveling mattress salesman in the fic… no reason; I just thought it was a hilarious concept.

b. I really wanted to work in one more line for John, but in the end, it didn't really fit. I wanted him to say, "The world is not a wish-granting factory… but apparently Cadbury's is". Oh well, we can't always get what we want…

c. For the record, I love John Green books. I just couldn't help myself... ;D

d. I apologize if the ending is too sappy. It was probably the hardest part of the whole thing because I didn't know how much Mel should mature over the course of the story.

e. Thank you so much for sticking around to the end! This was a blast to write and I really learned a lot along the way. I hope you enjoyed it!


	36. Hypocrisy and Statistics

**A/N: Hello Lovely Reader!**

**I miss you guys... *sniffs* ...so I made you another chapter! :D**

**(I promise, this is the last one... probably) ;)**

**I've noticed that I pick on John Green quite a lot for reoccurring themes and overused words in his writing. Reflecting back, this is incredibly hypocritical of me... (Sorry, John... Even though you'll never read this... Love you anyway!)**

**To rectify this problem, I will be sharing a few statistics from my own story. **

**Enjoy/despise/have neutral thoughts about/become annoyed/decide not to read/glance over quickly/pretend to read but really don't/print out and frame on your wall/decide to read later/decide to un-follow/and/or translate into a foreign language! It's up to you.**

**Complimentary Shakespearean Review: (as necessitated by DovahFinn) ;D**

**"****Out of my door, you witch, you hag, you baggage, you polecat, you ronyon!" (Shakespeare, William. ****_The Merry Wives of Windsor_****. Act IV, scene II. 1602.).**

**Best wishes! (Like, for real this time...)**

**~Bethany**

* * *

**Reoccurring Themes: **

Characters "come out": (52x +)

Characters are unconscious: (18x +)

Different YouTubers referenced/included: (42) (Hey look! The meaning of life!)

Characters used in Melanie's username: (92)

Starbucks slops: (5x +)

**Near death experiences: (18x +)**

Hit by moving vehicle (4x)

Jumping off building (2x)

Slitting wrists (2x)

Drowning (2x)

Incineration (2x)

Hanging (1x)

Electrocution (1x)

Overdosing (1x)

Plane crash (1x)

Falling piano (1x)

Flying hatchet (1x)

**Words I Probably Shouldn't Have Used So Much:**

"Sighed": (26x)

"Suddenly/Sudden": (17x)

"Rolled/Rolling his/her eyes": 16x

"American/America": (16x)

"Shrugged": (10x)

"British": (7x)

"Unintentionally/Unintentional": (7x)

"Sarcastically": (7x)

"Incredulously/Incredulous": (5x)

**Profanity/Euphemisms:**

"Fuck/Fucking": (15x)

"God": (14x)

"Hell": (11x)

"Crap": (10x)

"Shit": (6x)

"Bloody": (4x)

"Friggin'/Frickin'": (3x)

"Damn": (3x)

"Gosh": (3x)

"Holy crap": (2x)

"Jesus Christ": (2x)

**OC Names Included:**

Ophelia Cole

Oriella Cocosinski

Oracle Caldwell

Olympia Cumberbatch

Oakley Cornell

Odette Cansdor

Osanna Cartwright

Orleena (assume last name begins with _C_)

Oceana Carter

Oyintsa Chandler

Opal Cooper

Octavia Collins

Oscar Callaghan (did you notice he was one of Mel's OCs?)

**OC Names ****_Almost_**** Included:**

Ondrea

Odelya

Onella

Orana

Orianthe

Oxide (I _really_ wanted to get to use this one...)

**One Really Common OC Name I Never Used: **

Olivia

**Canon Word Count:**

"Maltesers": (6x)

"Totoro": (5x)

"Lion": (5x)

"Placenta": (0x) (unless you count the author's notes)

"Llama": (0x)

"Delia Smith": (0x)


End file.
